


Patchwork

by MCUsic_to_my_ears



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: (kinda), Adoption, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bruce Banner Angst, Bruce Banner Feels, Bruce Banner Has Issues, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bruce Banner-centric, Bullying, Central Park, Court Cases, Foster Care, Graphic descriptions of violence, Kid Bruce Banner, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minus the 'Super', Murder, Murder Trials, New York City, Nightmares, Panic, Panic Attacks, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Has a Family, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Superfamily, Tony Stark Doesn't Become Ironman, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2018-09-13 20:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9141451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MCUsic_to_my_ears/pseuds/MCUsic_to_my_ears
Summary: In the wake of Rebecca Banner's murder, her son is placed into the loving hands of foster parents Steve Rogers and Tony Stark when his aunt is unable to take him in. After saying goodbye to his cousin, Jen, he meets his foster brother, Peter Parker, the adopted son of Steve and Tony. The family must learn to help Bruce cope with his trauma while the impending trial of Brian Banner looms over them.





	1. Chapter 1

“I don’t  want to go,” Bruce whispered into Jen’s unruly hair. She pulled him into an even tighter hug in the lobby of her apartment building. 

“I know,” she frowned back, “Sometimes things aren’t easy or nice until you do them.” She was too wise for her age. 

He nodded and let go of his younger cousin. “I’ll miss you,” he promised, eyes glancing at Mrs. Conner. The police said that she was his ‘caseworker’, that she was supposed to find him a 'safe home', but all he wanted to do is go back to Dayton. 

He knew she wouldn't let him, that she’s taking him to New York City. That he couldn't get out of it, because he’s a minor and his mom was gone and his dad should've been. He knew that Jen and Mrs. Conner and the police were probably right, that he should get out of Ohio because he’s still fairly certain that his dad will break out of detainment and kill him too. But he’s never not been in Ohio. Even when he was staying in Cleveland for the past week with Aunty Elaine and Uncle Morris and Jen, it was still Ohio. Now he was boarding a plane alone to meet with a family in New York that’s supposed to be perfect for him. That’s supposed to look after him because Elaine and Morris don’t have enough room or money and Ohio was still too scary of a place. 

The city was better. The city was full of (only sometimes scary) people and the noises were constant and if he screamed somebody was bound to hear him. 

“It’s time to go now, Robert.” Bruce didn’t bother correcting Mrs. Conner. Jen hugged him one more time, as did Aunty Elaine (Uncle Morris said he was still on the commute back home) and then Mrs. Conner shut the backseat of her car on him. 

They drove in silence to the airport. It was a short drive considering the traffic, _only half an hour_ , he noted absently, staring out the dusty window. 

Mrs. Conner couldn't come with him on the flight. He knew this, but he still started crying when she handed his luggage to a flight attendant and left before he even got on the plane. His file’s already been emailed to the new social worker, he knew this too. He’s talked to Ms. Kelsey Walker once before. 

The plane ride was largely uneventful, but he felt everyone’s eyes on him. Ten year olds shouldn’t be alone on airplanes. Ten year olds shouldn’t feel their father’s hateful eyes burning through their backs even though they’re 40,000 feet above the prison and miles and miles away. 

He read for most of the flight (some book that didn't stick in his head no matter how many times he went over the pages), since it was already either late night or early morning and the witching hour kept him from closing his eyes for too long. He didn't want to wake up screaming in such an enclosed space anyway. It’d be rude. 

It was a short flight in the end. Two hours (and Morris’s own lies feel heavy in them) and then the woman sitting next to him that was too busy with her own child to try and talk to him, handed him his carry on from the slot above him. 

Ms. Walker was waiting for him in the terminal. 

“It’s nice to meet you in person, Robert,” she smiled, taking his backpack from him. “You too,” he mumbled, words tripping one over the other from his lack of practice. It was hard to concentrate. 

“Let’s get the rest of your bags, now. We can talk more when we get to my office,” she promised, her curly brown hair bouncing as she lead him to the baggage claim. It’d been a long day for him already, and now it was somehow already the next one and he still wasn't sure where he’s supposed to be sleeping that night (morning). 

She didn't pull out of the airport parking lot even as she buckled into the driver’s seat. “I know a lot of things have been pretty secretive around where we’re heading, Robert, but your foster family really is excited to meet you, but they also live very public life,” she explained, turning back to face the child. 

“I was also the caseworker for their other child, Peter, who they adopted a couple years ago. Abby should’ve told you that they are both men, which may be difficult for you, but Abby and I do both think that they’ll be good for you. Peter’s a good kid, he’s eight, and I think Steve and Anthony will be a good fit for you,” Ms. Walker continued, now pulling into the too early morning traffic. “You’ll meet them in hopefully an hour in my office. And again, if they aren’t a good match for you, we can always find you a different family,” she promised, glancing back at her charge through the rearview mirror. 

Her office was cozy in comparison to the clinical floors and caging walls that lead to their destination, but it didn't really feel safe. And there are two very large (mostly scary) men sitting across from him. 

They both stood up when Ms. Walker and Bruce entered and were smiling too broadly for two in the morning on a Wednesday. The taller one was blonde and sculpted and Bruce wasn’t entirely sure if he was a real person; whereas the second man was smaller, rougher around the edges. The brown-haired man looked more strung out, but also more awake than the first. 

“Robert,” Ms. Walker interrupted his thoughts, forcing him to look up from his hands. “This is Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark,” she gestured to the first man, then the second. “Please, Robert, call me Steve and him Tony,” Mr. Rogers corrected, sticking his hand out. 

Bruce sucked in a panicked breath and flinched backward, blinking quickly to keep the reflexive tears out of his eyes. He ducked his head, waiting for a second blow to come with white noise roaring in his ears.

Ms. Walker was kneeling in front of him when his brain started processing again. “Robert, are you okay?” she asked. He glanced up, head not moving, to find that both men have backed up a few inches and now holding hands. They looked almost… soft, next to each other. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, realizing his mistake. “Sorry- I. Sorry.” He wrapped his arms around himself in a hug. 

“It’s okay,” Ms. Walker assured him as Mr. Rogers replied, “No, I’m sorry.” He sounded so earnest that it’s almost frightening. But not quite. 

“Why don’t we all sit down,” Ms. Walker suggested to them. The older men nodded and smile and were seated within seconds. Bruce tried to keep himself from running from the room by dragging himself onto the couch across from the men. Ms. Walker sat at her desk. Bruce curled up into himself, leaning against the armrest of the fraying, gray couch. 

“Is he okay?” Steve asked, not letting go of his partner’s hand. Ms. Walker gave a weak smile, her gaze shifting to the half-asleep boy. “It’s been a long week for him, as you know,” she excused, “I’m just glad you’ll be his first foster family.”

Tony smiled grimly, his grip tightening on Steve’s hand, “We’re glad we can get him away from all that pain that must still be looming over his old home.” He took in a big breath, steeling himself, “My parents died when I was pretty young too, so I know a lot of the grief he must be feeling right now.”

Steve squeezed his hand before they both let go, glancing back at their newest foster child. They hadn’t fostered anyone other than Peter, so they had a one hundred percent adoption rate. “We’d like to take him home, now,” Steve requested softly. 

“Of course,” Ms. Walker replied, “I just have a couple more things that Abby Conner, she was his caseworker in Ohio, said I should cover now.” 

Both men nodded, so Ms. Walker continued, “First off, she wanted to remind you that,” she glanced at Bruce, but he looked asleep. “His father is in the Dayton Correctional Facility, but his case technically hasn’t gone to trial yet. The DA in Dayton has spoken with both his aunt and uncle and Abby about Robert possibly testifying against his father once the case goes to trial. Of course, since he’s ten, a judge would question him to see if he’s, well, the word they use is competent, which I hate, but still. His aunt and uncle don’t really want him to testify, but he was a witness and the longer his father is in prison, the better.”

Tony and Steve exchanged a look. They had tried to get as much information about his mother’s murder is possible so they could help support their foster child, but the details of the case were being kept secret since there was a child involved. 

“We’ll agree with whatever his aunt and uncle think is best for him,” Steve answered for the couple. Ms. Walker smiles at their response, “Thank you,” she replied, “Their home phone number is in here,” she pulls a packet out of her briefcase, “Address, whatever else you may need. They do want to be involved with Robert still, their daughter Jen, adores him apparently, but they don’t have room where they live and he’s been showing symptoms of paranoia over the last few days, according to both the police officers that have spoken with him and his aunt, Elaine. Which brings me to the second thing Abby wanted me to pass on,” Ms. Walker continued, “It’s been advised that Bruce see a trauma therapist.”

The partners’ hands find one another’s again. “We figured as much,” Tony replied, and if Ms. Walker hadn’t been paying attention, she would’ve missed the way his throat tightened around his words. 

Peter had gone to therapy too, when he was six and first coming to live with the couple. His uncle Ben had been killed when he was a year younger, and had been in the system since then, until Tony and Steve had opened their home to him. They still considered it one of their best decisions to date. 

“Okay,” Ms. Walker smiled softly, “I think that’s enough for this morning.” She shook her head, “Thank you. Bruce seems like a good kid.”

She stands and the men follow suit. “Hey, Robert, time to go,” she told the boy, shaking him from closing the last inches he was from sleep. 

She lead the three of them back through the office and down to the street. “I’ll talk to you again sometime tomorrow,” she smiled. 

“Thank you,” Steve answered, helping load a half-asleep Bruce into their car, Tony settling into the driver's seat. Steve packed Bruce’s bags into the trunk of the car before getting into the passenger seat. “We’ll be home in twenty minutes,” Tony announced to no one in particular, pulling into the never absent New York traffic. 


	2. Chapter 2

“And this is your room,” Tony presented, pushing the door open. “It’s pretty basic right now, because we wanted to wait until you got here before we made it car themed or whatever,” he explained.

Steve took over next, saying, “Peter’s room is next to yours and our room is down the hall,” he pointed before the three of them entered the bedroom. “So if you need anything or have any questions just come on over and we’ll get you whatever you need,” the blonde finished, setting Bruce’s bags down on the soft blue sheets.

“We’ll give you the full tour tomorrow, but you seem pretty tired right now, so we’ll leave you to it. Bathroom's through there and has anything you’d need to get ready for bed,” Tony added, exchanging a glance with his partner when Bruce still didn’t respond.

“We’ll see you tomorrow and introduce you to Peter, okay?” Steve said. Finally, Bruce nodded, not looking up at them, or the room either. Sure, it was pretty basic, but this was _Stark Tower_ , one of the most technologically advanced places in the New York, in the world even. They were expecting questions, or at least a greater response to the 'Goodnight’s they both offered than a meek nod and wave.

They were expecting questions, and without a doubt, Bruce had them, and before the door closed he allowed himself to verbalize just one. “Can I talk to my aunt?”

Tony and Steve turned around, “It’s pretty early, Robert, she’s probably asleep. We can call her in the morning if that’s okay? We don’t want to wake her up” the former offered.

“Right. Sorry,” Bruce mumbled, pulling his arms around himself.

Tony replied, “We can try her now if you need to-”

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” Bruce interrupted, almost desperately. He took a small step backward, before hitting the bed, flinching at the contact.

“Okay, Robert. It’s okay. Just head to bed now, yeah?” Steve said, neither man stepping into the bedroom.

Bruce nodded vigorously, his fingers loosening their grip on his upper arms.

“Got it. Goodnight,” Steve said for a final time. “We’ll see you in the morning.” He shut the door.

The couple waited until after they were satisfied that Peter was asleep in the next room over and not just pretending, to speak again. “I don’t think I could give that kid up,” Tony confessed.

Steve gave him an interested look. “Yeah?” he asked softly as they made their way to the living room. It wasn’t that he disagreed, but he just wanted to know his partner’s thought process.

“Yeah. He has the same… I don’t know, spark? Life? Life,” he decided, “Behind his eyes as Peter. It’s dulled, quieter, but it’s still there. It just needs to be nurtured. He’s a smart kid, you can tell. It just needs to be drawn out of him. He’s so quiet.”

Steve nodded, “Robert was quiet in the office, Tony. He was quiet in the car and he’s quiet now. He could just be tired or overwhelmed or a _quiet_ kid,” he reasoned, “Not everyone can have as much overflowing energy as you and Pete.” They stopped to finish their conversation uninterrupted by Peter’s sitter. “I agree that Robert’s smart,” he continued softly before his partner could start up again, “But I also think that before we focus on trying to nurture him into a genius, we should focus on trying to make him feel safe and happy.”

“I know that,” Tony frowned, “I know that, and you know that I know that and you’re just saying it to make me feel bad.”

“Don’t spoil my fun, love. It’s so hard to bring down the tower of ego that you’ve built for yourself,” he chided, planting a kiss on Tony’s lips before finishing their walk into the living room.

“That’s a tower of self _-_ _esteem_ , mind you and- Hey, that was a jab and our house, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, dear, it was. So glad you caught on.”

Tony fumed as he flopped down on the couch next to Happy Hogan.

“I really don’t like being demoted to Peter’s babysitter, you know that?” he asked, turning to look at Steve, who sat on the loveseat across from them. They didn’t normally have their family’s personal security guard watch their son, but they decided that they need to meet Bruce alone, without a big, scary ex-boxer following them around. They easily could’ve gotten Tony’s friend, and Stark Industries' old military liaison, Rhodey to do it or even SI’s CEO, Pepper, but they wanted to keep Happy away from the recently traumatized child.

“You’re hired to protect my family, Peter equals family, protection equals necessary. It’s basic math, Happy,” Tony chided.

Happy rolled his eyes, “How's the new kid? Robert?” he asked.

Steve and Tony glanced towards each other, before Steve answered, “He’s… tired. He didn’t talk much, but, well you read about as much as we did. He’s still timid, I guess,” he finished, sad smiles pulling down all their faces.

Tony let a sigh pull the tension out of himself, before asking, “So how was being demoted tonight? Were the clientele okay?”

Happy snorted, “Yeah, Pete's good. Didn’t want to go to bed, I’m pretty sure that he was still awake until like half an hour.”

“If you’re imprinting your sleeping habits on our son, I’m going to start forcing Restoril down your throat,” Steve threatened.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tony rolled his eyes, “Get out of here, it’s way too early for this kind of banter.” Happy smiled fondly, before leaving for the private elevator down the hall.

***

Three hours later, Bruce threw off the sweat-soaked covers of the foreign bed, gasping for breath. Images of bloodied hair and stained concrete still danced through his vision as he ran into the unexplored bathroom. He threw on the lights after some difficulty, hoping they would chase his nightmares away. He tried to slow his breathing, tried the loosen his grip on the counter. He was still held captive by the panic of that day; it seized him by the chest and kept him from moving. (Kept him from saving her).

Eventually, the immediate panic subsided back into stale paranoia and fear, and he forced himself out of the bathroom. When he looked at the clock, Bruce found that it was a little before 6. It wasn’t too far from normal or him, because that’s when his dad tended to get up and it was just stupid to be asleep when his dad wasn’t. He was just used to going to bed earlier. He forced himself not to wallow in how tired and broken open that he felt because he was awake and he wasn’t going to be going back to sleep anytime soon.

He was in a house that wasn’t his, and he couldn’t change that at the moment, he just had to adapt and wait until Jen changed Aunty Elaine's mind like his cousin promised she would. Which meant there was no need to unpack. He paced the room for a while, trying to keep his head on straight until he heard movement outside of his bedroom. This time it wasn’t to figure out which rooms to avoid. 


	3. Chapter 3

Peter was… different, for Bruce. He wasn’t used to seeing other people tired. Sure, his mom was in a constant state of exhaustion, and he’d seen Jenny and Aunt Elaine in the morning, but this was so unguarded. So natural. Jen and his aunt would always cover up what they were feeling in some misguided attempt to protect Bruce.

It had always felt mocking. _We can protect_ you,  _but you never can, never will,_ never  _could protect her._

“Hi, I’m Peter!” the young boy announced, sticking his hand out. Bruce flinched but quickly recovered, shaking the brunette's hand gently before it could become awkward with both parents now in the room.

The boy, Peter had his hair still sticking out everywhere as if he'd just woken up at ten o’clock in the morning, which was difficult for Bruce to comprehend. Although it was Wednesday, it was the summer so there was no real need for most kids Bruce’s age to wake up so early. 

Peter was rapidly gaining steam, though, waking up as he got his breakfast cereal. Some brand that didn’t recognize, but still felt like he should.

After Bruce still didn’t respond, or really do anything, for a while, Steve cleared his throat, “Robert, do you want to sit down up by Peter and eat?” he asked. Tony was still making coffee on the other end of the kitchen, but when he heard Steve, he turned and glanced at both Steve and then Bruce, brow furrowed.

Bruce felt a sinking feeling pull at his stomach. He forced himself to sit, but stared at his hands, trying to ignore the eyes drilling into him.

He was still wrecked from the forgotten images of his nightmare. He felt awful, both from that and from being in an unknown place with bright, technological fixtures that were so beyond his comprehension. Before It had happened, he’d lived practically in the middle of nowhere without any of the WiFi that Jen had told him about. His school hadn’t had it, his home hadn’t. They only had a landline and an (apparently old) cable TV. They had been so far away from Dayton, even if they (he, now) said that was where he was from. His only neighbor had been so far down the road that he couldn’t see their house from his bedroom window (not that he looked all that often).

Even after the week, he’d spent with Jen and Aunt Elaine, technology past that of the late eighties was still weird for him. His father did have a sizable wage, but nearly all of it was wasted by the time Brian Banner would get home at night, due to booze and shoddy blackjack playing. 

“Do you want some,” Peter glanced at the cereal box sitting next to him to confirm that it was indeed, “Coco Pebbles, Robert?” he asked, sliding the box towards Bruce.

Just after the right moment to respond, Bruce mumbled, “Thank you,” nodding slightly. He felt his heart crawling up his throat as he prepared himself to ask for a bowl, but Steve’s already placing one in front of him. Bruce blinked, looking from Steve’s hand to the bowl for nearly a minute before he forced himself to pour some of the pebbles into it.

He watched Peter eat a couple more bites first, before he started, using the spoon that had materialized out of nowhere. _Peter seems nice,_ he mused to himself as he ate, Steve taking a seat next to him at the island, but he didn’t let himself like Peter yet. He didn’t want to risk getting his feelings tied up in someone that could be just like all the remorseless kids that had gone before. Jen had been the only exception that he’d found, the only one that was within five years of his own age. She’d protected him from the others once when they had gone to a park when his family was visiting her’s.

Eventually, both Tony and Steve puttered out of the room for different reasons, leaving the children alone.

“How old are you, Robert?” Peter asked curiously, swinging his legs until the countertop, hitting the island every so often, but consistently enough that Bruce noticed the pattern and didn't jump after the first few times.

“Ten.” He’s silent enough, that Peter only heard him because he’d slowly been moving his chair towards Bruce.

“Why do you go by _Robert_?” he said the last word in a deeper voice, mocking his parents. Bruce barely flinched, the lower register reminding him of the only other person that had actually called him Robert.

Peter recovered quickly from the odd reaction, continuing, “It’s such an adult name,” he explained.

“I go by Bruce,” he eventually managed to explain.

“Then why were my dad's calling you Robert? They’re usually better at names. They have to be. They’re both always meeting new people and since Steve doesn’t let Tony bring JARVIS everywhere....” Peter shrugged, standing up and rinsing out his bowl before placing it into the dishwasher.

“Which is stupid,” he continued before Bruce could formulate a response, “because JARVIS could’ve just done that,” he motioned to the now closed dishwasher, “ _for_ me. Probably. Somehow. JARVIS is really, really smart, so he would’ve figured it out. But Steve makes JARVIS stay in the lab. Which is where Tony is all the time. Sometimes they let me go in and play around with stuff and it’s really fun.”

Peter looks at Bruce expectantly, as if it was his turn to talk. He thought of asking who JARVIS was, or why Tony was in a lab, or why he referred to his parents by their first names. But his mind wasn’t really firing on all cylinders yet, so the words, “I didn’t tell them,” slipped out of his mouth.

“Wha- Oh, your name. Why didn’t you tell the- Hey, Dad!” Peter exclaimed, jumping from one to the next as he walked aimlessly through the kitchen and the living.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony smiled, pulling his son in for a hug. “You better go get dressed, because Ms. Pepper,” there was a knock on the door, “Has gotten here all too early. Why don’t you let her in?” he asked, letting go and ruffling his hair.

Bruce turned, slipping down so that he wasn’t the only one sitting anymore.

“Robert, Pepper Potts is a-”

“His name is Bruce, Dad,” Peter interrupted, turning around halfway to the door.

“What?” Tony asked, looking between the two boys.

“He said he goes by Bruce.” Tony looked at Bruce for confirmation of Peter’s words. Bruce nodded quickly, causing Tony to furrow his brow, but before anyone could continue, Pepper entered through the doorway. Their apartment was only accessed by a private elevator, and there was basically an entire hallway for this one elevator, to allow for a front door of sorts.

“Good morning, Peter,” Pepper greeted, pulling him into a side hug before shutting the door behind herself. Peter grinned but didn't reply, as Pepper was already barreling ahead towards her real intentions. 

“Tony, you’re needed downstairs like, ten minutes ago,” she chided him. Tony rolled his eyes, as Pepper mouthed, “Is this Robert?” nodding to the brown haired boy shuffling uncomfortably by the counter.

Tony nodded. “Yeah, this is Bruce,” he corrected, still unsure with the name himself.

The child looked up at his name, his eyes searching Tony, then Pepper for what they wanted. He bit his lip and forced himself to turn around and look at Pepper.

“It's nice to meet you,” Pepper said, “But I’m going to have to steal Tony here for a while,” she explained.

Bruce nodded, confused, as Peter beamed and said, “I’ll tell Dad that you left,” he assured.

“Thanks, Pete,” Tony replied. “I’ll see you all later.”

Bruce frowned as he left, not sure what was going on. There was too much information filtering through his head without any context, but he felt his heart warn him that he might miss this fast-paced world when he went back to live in the stuttered home with Jen and Aunty Elaine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory warning for panic attacks and references to (and some explicit descriptions of) violence. Please stay safe!

Meeting new people wasn’t Bruce’s forte. Especially when it occurred with a frequency of more than one person a day. Hence why he hated the first day of school, even if he already knew most people in his class. And no matter how much his education felt like salvation, he still was almost always under attack from his peers.

But _this_ was much worse, because he had to be around _these_ new people all the time.

First, it had been Ms. Walker, then his foster parents. Then Peter, who counted for at least three people. He hadn’t _really_ met Ms. Potts, but she always seemed around, along with Mr. Hogan, who insisted that Bruce call him Happy.

Tony had explained that Mr. Hogan was actually their family’s bodyguard. He mostly went with Tony when the man went out, because, as Bruce was learning, Tony Stark was a very important and very wealthy man. Mr. Hogan was a very loud and very large, very intimidating man. Worse, he liked to touch people. He’d clap Steve on the back, shove Tony playfully, ruffle Peter’s hair. Once, he’d try to do the same with Bruce, on the third time that Bruce had seen Happy hanging around their apartment, and he’d almost had a freak attack because of it. 

But he didn’t blame Mr. Hogan for that. He’d had teachers who had been very quick to grasp his shoulder or hold a hand out of a high five. He’d learned to adapt, even though he was having trouble doing so in a house setting.

It was harder still, somehow, to handle himself around Steve and Tony. No matter how different they seemed, he had trouble keeping them separate from his own father.

Tony had the same kind of manic energy running through him, with fast (although not nearly as uncoordinated) movements that frightened Bruce. But since Tony was much smaller, Bruce figured he’d survive once Tony started to get physical. The man couldn’t be _that_ strong, despite what his muscles suggested when he’d come upstairs in a grease-stained tank top. Bruce had noticed that even in the summer, Tony tended to wear long sleeve shirts, jackets, or even blankets, anything to keep more of his upper body covered. It confused Bruce, but he didn’t dare ask about it.

Steve, on the other hand, seemed to be very much against shirts. The father apparently ran a marathon every morning, because when he came back at six, Bruce would watch him through his cracked open door take off his shirt. Hours later, when Bruce figured it was safe to leave his room because Peter had at that point, Steve would still be shirtless, as if the air conditioning in the apartment were subpar. Bruce had lived in places with bad or even without air conditioning, so he could vouch for the AC in the house: it was stellar, in his opinion. Despite how strong and large Steve looked, he still resembled a giant teddy bear to Bruce. He walked gingerly, as if aware that his mass could be detrimental to those around him. Even his words were soft, even if it was really only when he spoke to Bruce. Around Tony and Peter, he could match their volume and beyond, so Bruce assumed that Steve was trying to lull him into a false sense of security. What Steve would achieve by this, Bruce didn’t know, but he also didn’t want to find out.

Peter was easy to figure out, thank God. He said just about every thought he had out loud and seemed to have boundless energy. He reminded Bruce of Jen with how excitable they both were, and also how much they both loved to bother their respective parents. Bruce really did want to like Peter, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions, he didn’t want to get this wrong, to mess this up.

Which was likely the one reason that he messed up.

The core family (because Bruce quickly learned that Ms. Potts and Mr. Hogan were considered family as well) simply wouldn’t leave Bruce alone, (even though he was sure that it was somewhere in Tony and Steve’s job description).

He didn’t want to be with them, he didn’t like them, didn’t trust them (even though most of those were lies). He only trusted Jen and his mom, so really just Jen, and he wasn’t really ready to let anyone else in at the moment. Especially not the way they wanted him to, especially after only knowing them for less than a week. But Tony and Steve and Peter were all prying at his insides, trying to get whatever it was they wanted from him.

Which left him more drawn out than he liked to admit. At home, with his father, at least he _knew_ what to expect. Now he was just superimposing those patterns onto people he didn’t even know in hopes for some stability. 

A few days after he first found himself inside Stark Tower, Bruce woke up in a cold sweat. His breathing was too fast and he couldn’t get a hold of it like normal. He knew he was having a freak attack, but that didn’t make it any better. Waves of panic crashed over him as he scrambled out of the foreign bed. He didn’t know what it was that woke him up, but he knew that he was awake earlier than normal, even though his eyes blurred when he tried to look at the alarm clock that wasn’t his.

He fell onto the floor gracelessly, holding in a sob that clawing it’s way up his chest. He forced himself to move, it was a bad idea to stay in one place, it made you an easy target, even if moving could draw his attention. And if he caught you-

_“Get under cabinet, he won’t find you there!”_

Blindly, he hit his hands against a wall. “Please!” his voice attempted to beg, but everything was getting blocked in his throat by the bile that kept rising, threatening to choke him until it had its way.

He slid along the wall until he found a door, pushing it open softly despite himself, in hopes that he could stay hidden.

He couldn’t breathe, but his heart was pounding in his ears faster than _her head slamming against the pavement over and over, screams ripping their way out of her throat. “Mom!”_

He tried to scrub the blood off his face, tried to start breathing, but in the ink-black room, all he could do was find the cabinet and throw himself in. He forced himself to stay quiet, to stay still. _Mom will come get you soon. She’ll tell us when it’s safe,_ he assures himself. He doesn’t breathe.

*** 

“Steve, I will _pay_ you to go wake up at Peter,” Tony commented, standing outside his son’s door. As much as the engineer loved his child, he didn’t especially love seeing Peter up before the child was ready. Peter could be a morning person if he tried, but he’d begun to borrow some of Tony’s bad habits, having a tendency to stay up late with Tony in the workshop up in the R&D portion of the tower, where half the time Tony won’t realize it’s three in the morning until Steve gets him to come to bed.

“Tony, I think it’s cute that you think that I’d take money as a bribe,” his partner teased, already slipping into Bruce’s room.

“Oh, you’re dirty, Steven. I’ll get you back for that,” he muttered, going into Peter’s bedroom a moment later. They were taking the kids on a Happy-Approved trip to Central Park that morning, but the head of security only allowed them to go alone in the early morning. (Or, technically, he recommended for them to go, but Steve and Tony trusted his judgment more than most.) At least, early morning for Peter, since they had to get up around six thirty in order to get to the park around seven, only spending an hour or so before heading back home. If they wanted to go at any other time of day, Happy insisted that he, or someone else on his staff, go with them, because he was a little too passionate about his job and he did actually like the family he’d been hired to protect.

But they were always glad to catch a break from all the chaos of their lives and just be a (mildly) normal family. So, Tony woke up his night owl son against both their wills to maintain that precarious normalcy.

Across the hall, Steve switched the lights on, figuring that Bruce’s head would be under the covers anyway, although he had never seen the child asleep since the night he and Tony had brought him home.

So he knew Bruce was awake, but he also knew that as a parent, he needed to make sure that Bruce was getting ready and that he hadn’t fallen back asleep like Peter did after particularly late nights with Tony.

Except, all the lights were off before he’d entered the room. The blankets were all thrown around, twisted together and fallen onto the floor as if someone had dragged them there. He knew the windows were closed and that no one could open them and that no one could get through their elevator, save ten or so trusted friends and (as much as Tony assured him that his AI wasn’t allowed on their floor) JARVIS would have told them if someone had gone into Bruce’s room. But none of that could reassure him as he felt panic start to rise in his chest.

“Bruce?” he called out, checking in the closet with worry written on his face. When he was assured that the child wasn’t hiding behind the layers of clothes that someone had picked out for Bruce, (he was fairly certain it had been a combination of Happy and Natasha) Steve shut the door behind him.

“Bruce?” he asked again, “Where are you, sweetheart?” He heard a crash from the bathroom (or, not really a crash, but not a noise exclusively unlike one). Steve rushed over, throwing the door open quickly, but the room was empty. “Bruce?” he asked a final time before he saw it. The extra bottles body wash and shampoo, the now unfolded clean towel. They were no longer put away under the cabinet under the sink, but instead, all scattered across the floor. 

Steve crouched down, slowly pulling the cabinet door open.

Bruce blinked quickly at the light, trying to burrow further into the corner because light was bad. Light meant that _he_ was coming, and _Mom said he’d be safe under here. Just stay quiet, don’t move._

The darkness was safe, so he chased it until it all disappeared, leaving him exposed to the dangers that awaited him outside the cabinet door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just went through and edited this, only to discover that I didn't even finish writing one part!! Apologies!!

Steve felt his heart stutter when he saw Bruce’s unseeing eyes clamoring at the light. Steve watched his chest expanding and contracting too quickly, even though he didn’t hear a single breath coming from Bruce’s open mouth. He felt a twinge of pain in his chest because he had seen that look in Tony so many times and he never wanted anyone to feel that kind of panic.

”Hey, Bruce, it’s okay,” Steve assured him in the softest voice, “You’re all okay, got it?” He kept a running commentary like this, slowly stepping back and sitting down in the doorframe.

“I know it’s scary,” he promised, “I know you just want to stay under there forever, and I respect that, take as long as you need, but you’re going to have to come out, okay?” he asked. “It’s safe out here, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

As far as Steve could tell, Bruce hadn’t heard anything he’d said, had only reacted to the light from when he’d opened the cabinet. He wanted to drag Bruce out himself, but he knew that wouldn’t help.

“No one’s going to hurt you, Bruce. We’re going to keep you safe. You’ve got to slow down, just for a second. We’ve got to breathe slower.”

Bruce, for his part, did breathe a little slower, but only as his fingers wrapped around his upper arms harshly, nails digging into his skin, tears started sliding down his face. Steve could tell that Bruce was hurting himself even from his distance since his eyes had once been trained for this.

“It’s okay, bud,” Steve continued, “I’m going to grab your hands now.”

And God, didn’t that remind Steve of his first time doing this with Tony. Small wrists firmly, but not harshly, held in Steve’s hands. He rubbed Bruce’s wrists with his thumbs, trying to calm the child down.

Steve himself took a deep breath, trying to steel himself, not wanting to think about all the coincidences that must have taken place for every person in his family to have issues like this, including himself. He’d been diagnosed with PTSD after his first few months out of service so many years ago, but his had never really manifested the way that Tony’s did after Afghanistan.

Tony got all of the nightmares and the days where his hands couldn’t stop shaking and the panic attacks.

Tony was the one who _cannot_ take baths, and on bad days, showers. Who almost got kicked out of his position at his own company because of his PTSD, and not just because his co-CEO, his mentor, was trying to get him out the picture anyway. People on the board honestly thought that Tony was no longer in control of his own actions due to all the trauma he’d experienced.

Steve remembered after that first panic attack, that Tony had told him about how he’d spent nearly a month in a private psychiatric hospital, while still helping get SI out of the weapons industry and transitioning Stane (that bastard) out of being the CEO, or at least very nearly the CEO, only stopped from completely taking over because he’d turned out to be the one trying to get Tony killed in the first place. Tony had to try to take back control of SI and learn coping skills for the first time.

He thought of the ways that Tony’s hands shook as he told Steve how Pepper had visited him daily, both to check up on his progress for the board and because Tony was her friend and she cared about him. Then again, Pepper was just an amazing woman in general, in Steve’s opinion, because even as she brought Tony papers to sign _i_ _nside a psychiatric ward_ in order to stay on top of his company, but he never described her as nagging, only supportive. Trying to help him through all of the insanity that had become his life after 2008.

Once Tony had finished, Steve hugged him for about five minutes before Tony wormed his way out of Steve’s grasp in embarrassment.

So Steve knew how to deal with Tony’s brand of PTSD. Steve knew how to deal with Peter’s nearly bipolar traits, where one day he couldn’t make himself speak and then the next he had so much energy that he couldn’t sit still, which had been especially bad when he’d first moved in. He knew how to deal with his own PTSD (at least, most of the time).

(And man, wasn’t his family messed up?)

Now he just needed to learn how to deal with whatever is going on with Bruce, to try and help him feel safe again (or possibly for the first time). 

***

Bruce slowly unfolded himself from where he’d crushed himself into the corner, and even more slowly slid out of the cabinet and onto the floor as Steve softly coaxed him, not letting go of his hands. Steve also pulled back, getting closer to Bruce’s bed and bringing Bruce away from the bathroom. He tried to get as far back as he could from the child without having to let go of him so that Bruce wouldn’t feel trapped or intimidated by Steve.

“It’s okay,” Steve murmured, “We’re gonna be okay.”

Suddenly, the door to Bruce’s bedroom was thrown open. “Steve, are you two-” Tony started, his voice and movements were too loud. Bruce started, trying to pull out of Steve’s grip. He started hyperventilating again, and Steve could practically  _hear_ the unescaped scream clawing at the back of Bruce’s throat.

Steve quickly, but still smoothly to soothe Bruce, shifted his grip to hold Bruce’s wrists together with one hand, using the other to place a finger over his lips. Tony immediately shut up, making eye contact with Steve for several moments before leaving silently. He closed the door behind himself, trying to protect Bruce’s privacy from Peter’s curiosity.

Steve held fast, telling Bruce that it was okay, that he was safe out here. That he didn't need to hide. "It was just Tony, bud, and he's going away now. It’s all safe, everything is going to be okay, got it? It's time to come out of the bathroom now." Bruce started pulling harder at Steve again at those words, trying to get back control.

"Only if you’re ready, Bruce, okay? It's all about you and if _you_  feel safe. I'll wait all day, just for that."

He gave Bruce a few moments of silence to allow the kid to calm down and stop moving before he began walking Bruce through breathing exercises so that he could calm down even further. A couple seconds later, Bruce finally let Steve pull him into a hug.

Bruce had been crying since he’d entered the cabinet, likely even before then. He kept trying to keep quiet (scared of what would happen the moment he made a sound) and he’d been largely successful, but the second Steve’s arms closed around him, he finally let go, sobs ripping out of him.

He started dragging the tears off his face violently, trying to  _stop crying, dammit! Stop crying!_

Steve ran an assuring hand up and down Bruce’s back, shushing him and rocking him gently.

Tony walked in again, softly this time, but Steve easily heard him, opening his eyes. Tony moved extremely slowly before he sat down next to his husband. Then even more slowly, he placed a hand on Bruce’s back to accompany Steve's, ready to pull away the second that Bruce showed any fear or panic coming back.

He started to rub Bruce back as Steve moved one hand to support Bruce’s head, which was buried in Steve's neck, while he tucked his other arm around Bruce’s waist, still slowly rocking the child.

Finally, Bruce stopped crying and started to pull away from both of them. They let him go at first, not wanting to make him feel even more uncomfortable, or worse: to send him back into his panic. But then Bruce tried to go hide in the bathroom again, whispering, "Sorry," so softly Steve wasn't sure if he hadn't imagined it until he'd confirmed with a glance at Tony. But the engineer grabbed his wrists gently, pulling Bruce to a stop.

Bruce bounced on his heels before he tumbled onto his bottom and repeated, "Sorry," squeezing his eyes shut. His body went rigid, and his breathing almost stopped.

Both Tony and Steve furrowed their brows at the boy’s actions.

"It’s okay,” they assured him simultaneously.

“Do you want to get dressed now?” Steve asked quietly as Tony let go of their foster son.

Bruce nodded his head vigorously, pushing onto to his feet (still shaking) and tripping his way over to the closet.

The couple slowly got up to their feet, even though Bruce had disappeared behind the door a moment before, and Tony moved forward.

"Bruce, you don’t need to do anything that you don’t want to,” he reminded the child, standing a couple feet away from the doorframe so that Bruce wouldn’t feel trapped.

Steve nodded, even though Bruce couldn't see him. “We should just stay home, okay?”

Bruce froze in the closet, feeling guilt rise up in his chest, before grabbing some random shirt out of his suitcase that he'd thrown in there (even though there were still clothes hung up, just not  _his_ ). He scurried out, shaking his head quickly.

“No!” he called out, "I'm sorry!" He went back into the bathroom and started brushing his teeth too fast for it to actually be effective as he pulls a shirt on and off faster than Steve or Tony could fully notice.

Even after living with Bruce for less than a week, they recognized that apologizing was his security blanket. That it made him feel protected and that he was  _extremely_ unlikely to change his mind once he'd said he was sorry for a perceived mistake and had changed gears.

After two more futile attempts of getting Bruce to slow down and talk to them about staying home, they left him alone to finish getting ready.

"What were you doing?" Peter asked happily, bounding over from the kitchen to hug Steve, who he hadn't seen yet that morning.

Tony took a deep breath and forced himself to smile. "Nothing much, short stuff. Have you eaten breakfast yet?"

Peter shook his head slowly, he watched Steve for a moment, frowning at whatever he saw. Finally, Steve snapped out of his thoughts and gave his son a weak smile.

The ex-soldier had a harder time keeping his emotions behind locked doors. He knew that Tony had years of experience of hiding what he really thought and how he really felt since he had grown up in the media circus. But that didn't keep Steve from envying his spouse's control.

Tony went to go finish getting ready, leaving Steve to watch Peter and to keep an eye (and ear) on Bruce's door. He had gotten ready earlier that morning, after his run, which left him to parent in the meantime, not that he could complain.

About five minutes later, Bruce materialized outside his room, walking towards the kitchen. Steve hadn't heard him open or shut the door, which surprised him because he had sharply trained ears, but there Bruce was, shoulders hunched forward and a face void of expression studying the floor.

Steve felt his chest clench. A child shouldn't be able to control his emotions like that.

But despite his blank face, the rest of his body still looked absolutely wrecked from his (Steve didn't want to call it a panic attack even though he knew it was unlikely to be anything else). His hands shook minutely and he stumbled a little when he entered the kitchen.

Steve wanted to ask Bruce if he was okay, but he didn't want to draw any more attention to the child. Peter was already using what Steve and Tony had dubbed his "Earnest Knife Eyes", a pair which Tony had as well.

So Steve stayed silent, only greeting Bruce, and then Tony when he'd exited their bedroom, dressed in his best 'I'm-Not-Tony-Stark-You-Are' clothes. Bruce stayed sitting at the kitchen island, refusing to talk even after he finished eating, even when Peter ran back into his room to grab a jacket. Tony and Steve bit back questions, knowing what it felt like to be under scrutiny after a panic attack.


	6. Chapter 6

They embarked from the house at seven, fifteen minutes later than they would have preferred. As they entered the elevator to take them to the ground floor of the tower, Tony texted Happy that they were heading out.

”What held you up, did aliens attack the city?” the head of security cheekily replied a few moments later.

Tony smiled but didn't answer his friend, opting instead to grab Peter's hand so the boy wouldn't get lost in the morning foot traffic.

Steve had taken Bruce's, who hadn't argued, hadn't pulled away, and Tony had a feeling it had something to do with the fact that they were public, and didn't that just hurt?

Peter seemed to have caught onto the mood because he was fairly subdued the whole time on their walk to Heckscher Park, which wasn’t all that far from their house.

Peter did try to have fun while they were there, running from place to place, from kid to kid (the few that were there that early in the morning). Bruce stayed closed to the swing set the entire time until Peter got onto them, confirming for Bruce that it’s okay for him to get on them too, as all the other kids were playing tag while their parents watched.

Steve and Tony smiled when they saw that, they both let out sighs of relief. “We need to talk to… someone,” Tony murmured, his eyes lingering at the space between him and his partner, wanting desperately to close the gap. Steve nodded, “I’ll call his social worker after lunch, get them to play Scrabble or something,” he offered.

“He looks better, right?” Steve asked, taking his eyes off Bruce to look over at Tony.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Yeah, he looks more relaxed now. I don’t think we should push it yet, he’s still really vulnerable. And you know how I was, after-” he swallowed.

“I know,” Steve assured him, kissing his forehead quickly.

They were publically out, obviously, but they were still gun shy about PDA, since it brought attention to them, which could bring attention to their identities and Happy was pretty clear that they wanted to avoid that (for his billions of reasons that he liked not to share).

***

After they returned home, Tony went down to the executive offices in the tower, after he checked in with Happy, leaving Steve alone with the boys.

“You boys want to pull the Legos out?” Steve asked, settling down on the couch. Peter had already plopped down on the bean bag chair that he had dragged out of his room months ago and no one had made him put away thus far, and there weren’t many plans to. Bruce was hovering in his signature spot of _‘Almost In the Living Room, But Also Basically In His Bedroom’s Doorway,’_ twisting his hands. He shifted diagonally, but somehow not really forward or backward, just anxious little movements when Steve’s eyes looked over at him for an answer.

Peter, beginning to understand Bruce’s timidness, nodded happily and started to pull the tub out of the table that held their TV. It was full of long jumbled Lego pieces that had no hope of making a coherent set anymore. He flipped the lid off and started tinkering around. Steve let Bruce be, since he still seemed very shaken from his panic attack. The father knew that once he left the room if Bruce actually wanted to play with the Legos, he would migrate closer to Peter.

“I’m going to get something to drink, you boys want anything?” Steve asked. Peter shook his head no, so Steve knew that Bruce wouldn’t chance asking, but he still turned his attention to the child. Bruce shook his head shyly, inching toward his door, before Steve said, “Suit yourselves,” standing up to go to the kitchen.

Before rifling through the fridge, he notices a flyer on the door for the ice cream social where the kids would meet their teachers at the beginning of the school year. He’s forgotten that it was later that week.

“Hey boys?” he called as he walked into the living room with a glass of water in his hand.

“Yeah, Dad?” Peter answered, looking up from the spacecraft he was building. Bruce was sitting next to him, half-heartedly attaching pieces.

The parent settled down on the couch before he said, “You have the back to school day coming up on Friday.”

“Is that the one where we get ice cream?” Peter asked excitedly.

Steve smiled, laughing a little at the enthusiasm, “Yes Pete. And Bruce, we’re meeting with your teacher the day before so that you can get a tour of the school, okay?” He also was going to meet the counselor there, but Steve didn’t mention it.

“Okay,” Bruce replied quietly. He looked back at his foster father quickly, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Can I come?” Peter asked, quickly assembling the thrusters for his ship.

“I’ll talk to your dad, but probably.”

Peter beamed, and began prattling on about school and supplies and what he was going to wear the first day. Finally, Steve decided Bruce was getting a bit overwhelmed by everything Peter was saying, if his repetitive attaching and detaching of the same two pieces was anything to go by. “How about you boys pull out the Scrabble board and play a few rounds,” he suggested. His adopted son smiled brightly, before digging through the TV cabinet to find the game. He set it all up and pulled out seven pieces, reminding Bruce to do the same.

Peter started the round, putting down ‘arrow,’ gaining twelve points due to a double letter place. Bruce built off the ‘o’ that with ‘mope,’ which Steve noted pretty well described Bruce’s current mood as he picked up his book. He seemed to be shy about placing words as their game progressed. He seemed to be using simple words, and Steve noticed that he never came within five points of Peter once they got into the swing of things. Peter won their first two games, but at the start of the third, Peter place the word ‘biology’ through Bruce’s ‘lions’.

 _‘They took your advice_ ,’ Steve texted Tony, glad the boys had fallen into a rhythm.

Bruce put down ‘helmet’ as Tony, or rather JARVIS, replied, _‘They’re actually playing Scrabble?’_ Steve snorted to himself at the text. ‘ _Ya. Also tell jarvis he's super easy to notice’_

 _‘Is J not using textspeak properly??’_ The ex-soldier smiled, glad Tony had picked up his phone.

_‘He's too formal love’_

‘ _Ill scold him properly later’_ A second text came through a moment later, still from Tony. _‘i hope pete isn’t going too hard on Bruce’_

Steve glanced up, _‘um… actually i think that might need to be going the other way, bruce just placed porous’_ he responded.

Tony just sent a set of ellipses back.

_‘im not kidding, bruce lost the last 2 rounds, Tony, but i don’t think he was trying’_

_‘will you send me a pic of the board plz? (n highlight which ones are bruce’s words… plz!!)’_

_‘sure love_ ’ Steve answered indulgently. He did that and JARVIS automatically picked out Bruce’s words for him, which Steve was thankful for since he hadn’t been keeping that close of an eye on the game. He sent the picture to Tony, before texting a quick _‘Thank you!’_ to the AI.

 _‘oh shit’_ the engineer replied.

‘ _Exactly’_ Steve concluded.

The boys continued to play until Tony came back upstairs for lunch, with his friend James in tow. It was part of their tight-knit group's way to get together, having Rhodey come over once a week to eat with their family. Steve heated up a casserole that he had made earlier that week for this meal. They gathered in the dining room and Steve could immediately tell that Bruce was uncomfortable. It was pretty clear that it had to do with meeting a new person than it did with anything Steve or Tony had done, which was mildly reassuring, but there was also an anxious look on his face anytime they used the dining room. Once Rhodey stopped focusing all his attention on Bruce though, the boy seemed to take a liking to the liaison. He paid special attention to everything the man said in a way the he didn't with anyone else, as if he actually cared about what was being said rather than being afraid of missing something important or something that he would need to know in the future, even if Tony and Rhodey spent most of the time talking shop about SI than anything else.

Tony and James had been friends before the whole Afghanistan Kidnapping Nightmare that Tony went through, acting as the government's connection to SI, but now that Tony had cut all ties to weaponry, they still tried to get together when they were both in town. Lately, Rhodes had been in DC, so that was why he'd been able to come around and eat dinner with the family.

Steve had taken a liking to James as well, as they bonded over being in the military. 

***

Later that night, after Rhodey had left and they put the boys to bed, Tony and Steve decided to call Bruce's social worker.

"Hello dears," Ms. Walker greeted, "How's everything going?"

"We're good Kelsey," Tony answered. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm just splendid, boys. Is everything okay? Peter's good? Bruce? How is he settling?" She understood that the couple generally didn't contact her, or anyone that could help unless something was truly wrong.

Steve and Tony glanced at each other before Steve sighed. "We believe that Bruce had a panic attack this morning," he explained.

"Maybe Bruce should be going to therapy then," she suggested.  

Tony let out a breath, "Yeah. You'll send us some names?" he asked.

They could hear the smile in her voice, "Of course. You two have a good night."

"Right back at ya', Kels," Tony smirked. They said their goodbyes and ended the call.

"God, I hate to think about what this kid would have to say in therapy," Tony muttered as Steve drew them together into a hug.

“Do you think it would help him?” Steve wondered.

“I mean, I know that therapy can help- _we_ know that- but his mom’s death is still pretty recent, and maybe he’s just reliving that panic and everything. Ee’ve just got to be a calming force for him until he’s feeling better,” he reasoned.

His partner nodded, “You’re right. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. I just wish I knew a little bit more about what he experienced at his house so that I know how it’s affecting him now and how I can best help him.” The pair settled down in bed.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, “If we just knew how much of this is a change in environment and how much is actual trauma, I feel like we’d be better equipped to handle all of this.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, before Tony announced, “I got a call from the DA out in Dayton, they got my number from his aunt. They want to talk about Bruce testifying against his dad.”

“That sounds like the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Steve remarked.

“Glad we’re on the same page here, but… I think we should get Elaine’s input. She knows him at least a little better than we do so far.”

“But how well does she actually know him? Bruce never says anything about her, only her daughter.”

Tony sighed, “I don’t know.” He felt like that described everything he’d run into when trying to get to know Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm finally posting a chapter, but no promises of more to come anytime soon. I have the full timeline and everything, but I lost a lot of my motivation to write this fic during the school year. I do want to finish it, but I'm not sure when that will happen... 
> 
> Sorry for the wait!! Thanks for reading!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What ho?
> 
> An update?
> 
> On /this/?
> 
> I know, I'm sorry, but it hippity happened, so that's spooky. Hopefully more to come (I've already started the next chapter)!
> 
>  
> 
> There has been new content added to this (the email section), so if you are a returning reader, you might want to check it out. It adds ~suspense~ (jazz hands).

“And here’s the water fountain where I overflowed my water bottle because I was talking to Michelle! Oh, and here is the supply closet where they keep the smelly markers! And one time, me and my friend Wade were making cards for our teachers because it was… it was?”

“Teacher appreciation week?” Steve suggested.

“Yeah! That!” Peter exclaimed. “And the art teacher, Ms. Jones, let us use them, and-”

Steve reached down and pulled his son into his arms.

“Da-ad!” Peter whined.

“Maybe let Bruce look around a bit first.” the father requested.

Peter nodded and pulled so that Steve would set him down. “If you _look_ —” Peter glanced at Steve with a petulant look. “—here, then you’ll see my second grade room, where Mr. Parsons let us have a bunch of little families of rocks on our desks. It was really cool, too, because my family had, um, a dog that was a stick and it. Was cool.” Peter shrugged, running out of steam as Ms. Taylor interrupted.

“Your classroom will be right here, Bruce. Your teacher is Mrs. Call, I think you too will get along nicely,” the counselor informed the skittish fifth grader.

Bruce nodded his understanding, but help tight onto Tony’s hand.

Of course, Peter took that as permission to continue talking.

“So Mr. Parsons-”

“One moment, Peter,” Ms. Taylor smiled down at the hyperactive boy. “I’d like to introduce the two of you, if that’s alright Bruce.” The brown-haired boy squirmed a little, but he nodded.

Ms. Taylor beamed and knocked on the classroom door.

A heavy, short woman waved them in. She pushed her soft, brown hair out of her face. “Hello all,” she greeted. “I’m Mrs. Call, and you must be Bruce.”

The boy wrapped his arms around himself, nodding.

“Well it’s very nice to meet you,” she promised. “I’m very excited to have you in my class,” she continued.

“Thank you,” Bruce mumbled, glancing up, but ducking his head again when she smiled warmly at him.

Encouraged, she asked, “How are you liking New York?”

Bruce blinked a little. “It’s, um. Very nice. Here.”

“Are you settling in okay? I’m sure it’s a bit of a change from home.”

Steve and Tony were about to redirect, but Bruce answered first. “Yeah. Um. Yes, it’s nice.”

Steve and Tony smiled a little, knowing that he dialed down a lot of his emotions, but forgetting his screened his speech as well.

Sensing that Bruce was feeling uncomfortable, Mrs. Call simply said goodbye, and how she looked forward to seeing Bruce again soon.

Peter’s narration bounced in the halls once again.

***

As always, the rigor of the school year caught the family off guard. The first day was met with a whirlwind of Peter’s excitement to see his friends again and Bruce timidly thanking his foster parents for dropping him off and concluded with energetic stories from Peter and quiet agreements from Bruce. That Thursday, Pepper ate dinner with the family and Bruce’s shock for her natural kindness spoke volumes over his polite conversation. During the weekend, they checked out books from the New York Public Library, taking hours since Bruce was transfixed by the walls of books. 

Which led to Steve’s confusion at the email he received from Bruce’s teacher. 

***

**MAP Testing Scores**

    Wednesday, September  14, 2016, 7:14 AM

 Call, Leann <[ lncall@nycpublicschools.net ](mailto:lncall@nycpublicschools.net)>

 to me, Stark, Tony <[  _aestark@si.biz_](mailto:aestark@si.biz)>

_Dear Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark,_

_I’ve noticed that your child struggling in both math and reading. His MAP test scores indicate that he would benefit from some extra help in the subjects. I have already worked one on one with him for a few days, but I believe that he would learn more from our resource teacher specialists. Would I have your permission to send him to the learning specialist for extra reinforcement on the subjects during the reading and math blocks? Thank you for your input._

_Sincerely,_

_Leann Call_

 

**Re: MAP Testing Scores**

    Wednesday, September  14, 2016, 10:38 AM

 Steve Rogers <[  _sgrogers@si.biz_](mailto:sgrogers@si.biz)>

 to Leann

_Dear Mrs. Call,_

_My partner and I discussed, but we haven’t seen any indication of low academic skills at home. We believe that Bruce is still adjusting to New York City since his previous home was in a rural town in Ohio. We both believe that he is a very bright child and that any lack of academic skills now will likely diminish as he gets more comfortable. He is also very shy, so low levels of class participation are due to that. But based on his abilities we’ve seen on his homework, he is very capable in both math and reading and we see no need for him to receive extra help in either subject._

_Best Wishes,_

_Steve Rogers_

 

**Re: MAP Testing Scores**

    Thursday, September  15, 2016, 6:58 AM

 Call, Leann <[ lncall@nycpublicschools.net ](mailto:lncall@nycpublicschools.net)>

 to me

_Dear Mr. Rogers,_

_Thank you for your response. In wanting to keep you involved in Bruce’s education, I will continue to keep an eye on his performance and keep you informed on his progress._

_Warm Regards,_

_Leann_

_***_

The parents let it slide, convinced of their foster son’s aptitude. Bruce easily kept of with Peter at any intellectual spat, and Peter had been placed in the school’s gifted program. The only reason he wasn’t skipping grades or at a charter school was due to Steve’s reservations and parental instincts.  _Kid's needed normal peer interaction,_ he insisted. 

But Mrs. Call didn’t seem so sure about Bruce's own intelect, and she soon contacted them again. 

***

**Progress Update**

    Tuesday, September  27, 2016, 7:22 AM

 Call, Leann <[ lncall@nycpublicschools.net ](mailto:lncall@nycpublicschools.net)>

 to me, Stark, Tony <[  _aestark@si.biz_](mailto:aestark@si.biz)>

_Dear Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark,_

_It’s been two weeks since I last reached out to you about Bruce’s progress. I am still concerned about his math and reading skills. Could we please meet with the resource teacher and our school counselor to develop a plan for Bruce’s success. Thank you!_

_-Leann_

 

**Re: Progress Update**

    Tuesday, September  27, 2016, 1:04 PM

 Steve Rogers <[  _sgrogers@si.biz_](mailto:sgrogers@si.biz)>

 to Leann

_Dear Mrs. Call,_

_Although we are still not convinced that Bruce has a learning disability, we are happy to come in and discuss with you. I am happy to meet with you at any time, but my partner is unlikely to join us due to his busy schedule._

_In other respects, we are concerned that Bruce has not mentioned any new friends. We were hoping you could shed some light to see if he is just being quiet, which isn’t out of the ordinary for him, or if there are other issues going on that we are not aware of._

_Thank you for your time!_

_See you soon,_

_Steve_

 

**Re: Progress Update**

    Tuesday, September  27, 2016, 4:17 PM

 Call, Leann <[ lncall@nycpublicschools.net ](mailto:lncall@nycpublicschools.net)>

 to me

_Steve,_

_Does_ _tomorrow at 10:15_ _sound good for our meeting?_

_I also have not seen Bruce play or talk to many other students other than his brother at recess. I haven’t seen any sort of issues, but I will keep an eye out._

_-Leann_

 

**Re: Progress Update**

    Tuesday, September  27, 2016, 8:49 PM

 Steve Rogers <[  _sgrogers@si.biz_](mailto:sgrogers@si.biz)>

 to Leann

_Leann,_

_Thank you for looking out for Bruce! I will see you_ _tomorrow at 10:15_ _!_

_Warmly,_

_Steve_

_***_

Their meeting left something to be desired, in Steve’s opinion. 

***

**New Tutoring Group**

    Wednesday, September  28, 2016, 6:51 PM

 Call, Leann <[ lncall@nycpublicschools.net ](mailto:lncall@nycpublicschools.net)>

 to me

_Steve,_

_I understand that our meeting did not go how you wanted it to, but I would still like to discuss with you placing Bruce in a tutoring session with several other students who could use some extra practice in math and reading. The group would meet before school at_ _7:45_ _in my classroom on_ _Tuesdays_ _and_ _Thursdays starting next week_ _. Please respond if you are interested._

_-Leann_

***

The next day, Steve was alone when he picked up the boys from school. Tony was stuck at a meeting across town for a potential cooperative research project in the biotech sector of SI, and wouldn’t be home till late. The boys were working on homework—nothing serious yet, just a worksheet here and a spelling test there—at the island while Steve began reheating the leftover pizza when Tony walked into the home. Peter raced over and jumped into his father’s arms, and Tony obligingly twirled him around. Bruce gave a small wave, which Tony grinned at. 

“Hello dear,” Steve smiled, kissing Tony on the cheek. He noticed the hint of whiskey on Tony’s breath as Peter yelled “Gross!” back from his place at the countertop. Steve cocked his head in question, but Tony shook his head, mumbling “Tradition” to his spouse. Steve nodded in understanding—not at the bizarre practices of the business world, but at Tony’s hatred of it—and released his husband. Peter began rambling on about his day as Tony began to help set out plates, first Peter’s, then Bruce’s. 

Bruce stiffened. 

Steve and Tony had learned that pointing out Bruce’s semi-concerning behavior made it less prevalent, but extremely-concerning behavior more prevalent. So he didn’t say something. 

Except the moment Tony circled back around the island, Bruce had slipped out of his chair and was halfway to his bedroom. 

“Hey, Bruce?” Steve called unsurely. “You feeling alright?” He glanced at Tony, who looked as confused as he did.

Bruce gave a sharp nod in response, but continued to his bedroom.

Peter looked up from his homework. “Dad?” he asked. He was ignored.

“Hey, Bruce, what’s going on over there?” Tony started walking towards the boy when Bruce dropped to the floor. Immediately, Tony recognized the panic attack and immediately, he realized he was the cause.

Steve seemed to recognize this as well and stepped forward.

“Peter, go to your room,” the blonde ordered.

His son blinked. “Dad?”

“Come on, Pete,” Tony repeated.

The boy was stuck in his spot, staring at his foster-brother.

“Hey, Bruce,” Steve murmured, sitting a couple feet away from him. The boy huddled in on himself. “Are you with me, Bruce?” he asked, trying to gauge the severity of the attack. He had a feeling that the first one had been on the harsher end, but seeing as this was only the second he’d had, it was hard to tell. His stomach clenched at the thought that the first had been a cakewalk compared to what was to come.

Steve pushed the thought away as the boy nodded into his knees. He felt some stress leave his shoulders. “That’s good, bud. Do you know where you are?”

After a short moment, Bruce nodded again.

“Okay. Do you know what’s going on?”

“Stupid,” Bruce mumbled between panicked breaths.

“What’s stupid?”

Bruce rocked himself, anxiety ramping up at the perceived interrogation. “Me.” His eyes blinked rapidly at the admission, and his sharp breaths picked up speed.

“Hey, you’re not stupid, Bruce. Getting upset is not stupid, especially if you are upset about the bad stuff that happened. Tony gets upset, I get upset, Peter gets upset, alright? There is no reason to call yourself stupid.”

At the mention of Tony, Bruce started to move away from the kitchen. Peter went to comfort his friend, only to be swooped up by Tony. “Come on, kid,” he said under his breath, taking Peter into the boy’s bedroom and staying with him.

Steve couldn’t help but feel a little relieved when they were gone, not wanting Bruce to have an audience.

Bruce seemed to notice that they were gone too, because the second the door shut behind the pair, his breathing started to slow minutely, but he started to cry harder.

“Oh, buddy,” Steve murmured, finally taking the child into his arms. “You’re okay. I promise, sweetie. You’re safe here. No one’s never going to hurt you.”

Bruce wept harder.

***

"Why’s Bruce going to bed?" Peter asked, standing at the cusp of the kitchen. A reheated pizza was sitting at his spot on the counter, but he had yet to look at it. Bruce’s dinner had been carefully packed up. "He didn’t eat dinner, and you said that dinner is-"

"He's just tired, Pete," Tony sighed, leaning against the wall, still quietly angry with himself. "Come over and eat, please.”

Peter shook his head, refusing to let them pass him. "But why is he going to bed?" He looked between his parents, worry creased in his forehead.

"Remember what me and Dad said about Bruce not having a good family before he came to live with us?" Steve asked, kneeling in front of his son. Peter nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, sometimes what his family did to him in the past can still hurt him now." Tony moved next to his husband as Steve finished, "Sometimes things remind him of his family and it makes him feel unsafe, afraid."

"Well, what was it?" Tony and Steve shared a look, before Steve replied, "Peter, you're still-” Tony started.

"It has nothing to do with you, Peter,” Steve assures him. Both parents stood up. “Now, you need to eat.”

Peter grumbled, but climbed onto his chair and ate mechanically.

Steve closed his eyes and tipped his head up for a moment.

“Come on,” Tony murmured. “Dinner.”

His husband nodded.

They all slept restlessly that night.

Steve even skipped his run in the morning, instead electing to spend the extra minutes cuddling with his spouse.

“Steve,” Tony groaned tiredly, “Steve, morning. Need to get up.”

“ _Tony_ ,” he yawned.

The engineer pulled the ex-soldier up. “I’ll get Pete if you make us breakfast,” Tony bartered.

Steve smiled softly. “Sounds like a plan.”

After waking the sleeping giant, Tony sent the boy into Bruce’s room, both since he wanted to check up on his foster brother after his hard night and because Peter was better and getting Bruce to wake up, as he didn’t appear as a threat on Bruce’s danger radar.

Tony slipped into the kitchen and hugged his husband from behind as Steve stirred some pancake batter.

“Dads?”

“What’s up, Pete?”

“Bruce isn’t here.”

Steve dropped his bowl, glass shattering.

“ _What?_ ”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of references to abuse, so read with care!
> 
> Also, there is new content in this chapter because I forgot about a subplot, so if you are a returning reader, pay special attention to the email section, it wasn't there before. Apologies!

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“My- Shit. My foster son is missing. His name is Bruce Banner, and-”

“Sir, I’m going to send a detective to your location. Where are you now?”

“I’m- Go to Stark Tower. My partner is there, I’m taking my son to school.”

“Sir, it isn’t advisable to take-”

“No. Peter needs to be at school. Right now, it’s safer than home.”

“A detective is being sent to your location now, sir. Please try to remain calm.”

The call disconnected and Tony’s heart pounded in his chest.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Um. Is Bruce going to come to school late?”

“I don’t know, bud. But if anything’s wrong, you go to Ms. Taylor’s room, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And Ms. Alice is going to be at the school too alright? You remember Ms. Alice?”

“Happy’s friend?”

“Yeah, bud,” Tony whispered.

He parked the car across the street from the school and fed the meter. An SUV pulled in behind him, and a woman jumped out.

“Alice,” Tony greeted, not looking over.

“Mr. Stark,” she answered easily.

Tony opened the door for his son, placing a hand on his back. The trio crossed the street, waving to the crossing guard.

They were met in the office by Ms. Taylor, and after exchanging a few words, Tony left his son in their expert care.

Pulling back into the morning traffic, Tony called his husband. “Pete's at school now, Alice is with him and the counselor knows what's going on.”

“Okay, good,” Steve sighed. “And we- J.A.R.V.I.S. found the video of Bruce leaving. Tony, he didn't. He wasn't taken. He just left.”

“Can you- J?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tony, we-”

“God, Steve. Now? Really?”

“Sorry, I'm just.”

“I know. Shit. J.A.R.V.I.S, can you track him past that point?”

“No, sir. None of the outside cameras picked him up.”

“How the hell?” Tony muttered.

“Mr. Banner is fairly intelligent, sir, and perhaps-”

“Rhetorical, J.” He shook his head. “Steve, does everyone know?”

“Yeah, Tones,” his husband sighed. “Kelsey’s calling some places lost kids tend to go to that she knows to be on the lookout for Bruce, and Happy is sending out some people to ask around.”

“Okay. I called the cops. They’re sending a detective to the Tower. Tell security downstairs to let them up.”

Steve nodded, “Got it.”

“I’m ten minutes away, so I’m going to hang up. I’ll see you soon.”

“Alright. I love you,” Steve promised.

Tony swallowed. “Love you too.”

They hung up.

The engineer cursed as he hit a red light. “Where are you, bud?” he asked, staring at the 110th street sign, willing Bruce to be as easy to find as those green beacons.

***

“Pep wants you to know that she's sorry she can't be here right now,” Happy reported the moment Tony opened the door. “But that the moment the Japan conference is finished, she'll be on her way.”

“Thanks, Happy,” Tony breathed, fully stepping into the threshold of his house.

Steve stepped forward and immediately embraced his husband.

“Pete’s safe,” Tony whispered.

“I know.”

Tony nodded into his shoulder and followed him over to the kitchen, where the boy’s caseworker sat, speaking into her cell phone. Happy came to lean against the island.

“I want to see it,” Tony announced.

Steve nodded, expecting this, and opened up his laptop.

They watched Bruce unlock the door to their apartment before relocking it from the outside with a pair of paper clips. He then cued up the elevator and had it take him to an empty business floor. He disappeared for a while in the darkness, but J.A.R.V.I.S. cut to the next segment of footage that Bruce was visible in. The boy had slunk behind a pair of custodians who were doing a final sweep on the lobby. As they passed by the front door, he slipped out.

The video ended.

“Sirs,” J.A.R.V.I.S. called, “Detective’s Morgan and Zimmerman are here.”

“Happy?”

“I’ll get them caught up, Boss.”

Tony’s shoulders dropped a little. “Thanks,” he whispered. Steve pulled him into a brief embrace before they settled down to work.

When the detectives joined them, they brought a laundry list of questions and places to look in the house. They watched the video of Bruce leaving, taking nothing at face value, which, Tony supposed, he appreciated.

Then they began unpacking their briefcases, scattering different protocol sheets and questionnaires over the table.

“And Bruce didn’t show any previous signs of wanting to run away? Nothing from this list?” Morgan pointed at a sheet of at-risk behaviors, sliding it even closer the couple.

Both parents shook their heads, barely reviewing the list. “No,” Tony answered bitterly. “He didn’t love it here—he doesn't love it anywhere—but no one ever wanted him to leave.”

“Was there anything going on within the house that might have hurt Bruce?”

The engineer exploded, tired of the same questions for hours when his foster son was still missing, lost in the dangerous city of New York.

“I don’t understand why you’re asking us this shit! It’s not like we pushed him away! It’s not-”

“I am just wondering if he was comfortable here,” the officer soothed.

“No. No, he has not been comfortable here,” Tony admitted.

Both parents deflated

“I’m going to go get, Peter,” Steve announced, taking his head out of his hands.

“Do you-”

“Stay here, Tony,” Steve insisted. “In case, he.” He let out a deep breath. “Comes home, okay?”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

***

“Where’s Bruce?” Peter demanded immediately as they entered the living room.

Steve blushed, embarrassed at his son’s lack of manners.

“We’re still looking for his bud,” Tony reassured.

“Want him now,” the boy insisted.

“We do too, Petey. Trust me, we do too.”

Ms. Walker looked up from her laptop. “Has anyone notified his aunt?”

***

“Do you have any idea where he’d go?”

“Well, he doesn’t know the city very well, and to be honest, neither am I. It’s possible that he- Oh, one moment. Jennifer, please, I’m a bit busy right now,” Elaine insisted to her daughter.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” was heard on other end.

“Jenny, dear, I can’t-”

Tony bit his lip before blurting out, “It’s fine if Jen knows. She _should_ know.”

Elaine sighed. “Jen, your cousin is missing.”

“Brucie?” she asked.

“Yes, sweetie.”

“Um. Are they… do they need help looking for him?” she asked.

“That’s why I’m on the phone with his foster parents.”

“Oh. Um, do they need _my_ help? Because, um. Tomorrow’s early release, so I could-”

Steve and Tony exchanged a look.

“We’d love your help, Jen,” Steve promised over the phone. “But you don’t need to come to New York. Thank you for offering.”

“‘Kay.” She sounded disappointed.

Steve smiled. “Why don’t you tell us about where you think he might’ve gone.”

“Well, um. Bruce doesn’t like new places. He’s, um, probably around. Around somewhere you already went.”

“Oh, my god,” Steve breathed. “He’s at the library.”

“What?” Tony asked.

“Tony, he’s at the library. The only other places he’s been to is the park and a couple restaurants, but where was the one place he was actually comfortable?”

“He’s at the library.”

“Exactly.”

“Call Happy.”

“I am.”

“Are you going to find Bruce?” Jen asked.

Tony held the phone to his ear. “Yeah, dear. We think we know where he is. We’re going there now.” He sighed. “Thank you so much, Jen.”

“Thanks for finding him,” she murmured. Someone spoke on the other end of the phone. “My mom says that I have to go do homework. Could you, um. Would you call my mom to tell her when you find him?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Tony reassured.

The girl whispered her thanks and hung up the phone.

The husbands squared their shoulders.

“Let’s go.”

***

The drive to the library was tense. Happy wanted to be the first to start searching the library, but Tony and Steve and Peter jumped out of the car at the front doors, leaving the security guard to park.

The parents traced back through the shelves they had searched less than a month ago.

He sat in the far corner, clutching a book to his chest, behind a blue armchair.

The parents paused, but Peter raced forward.

“Bruce!” he called excitedly.

The boy flinched, holding the book closer to himself, eyes clenched shut, and tear tracks staining his cheeks. Steve scooped Peter up before he could scare his foster brother any more. He settled Peter back next to Tony, who, after hesitating briefly, kept watch in the shelves. The others from the dining room soon joined him.

Steve again step forward. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured. “I am so glad to see you. You had us all worried.”

Bruce didn’t move.

“I know you’re scared, but it’s time to go home now.” Quickly, to cut down on Bruce’s processing time, Steve picked up Bruce to reassure him from his nightmares.

Instead, Bruce screamed a shrill “No!” and Steve nearly dropped him on top of the chair.

“Whoa, there, buddy,” Tony soothed from the other side of the cove. “It’s just Steve, yeah?”

Bruce shook his head, fingers grasping at the over-plush chair arms.

Steve looked back at the rest of his family, eyes begging _What do I do?_

Tony stepped forward, sitting down at the foot at Bruce’s armchair and setting Peter down next to him. _Call Jen,_ he mouthed.

Steve nodded, stepping back into the shelves.

“Did you find him?” Jen asked excitedly.

“We did, hun,” Steve told her.

“Then what’s wrong?” she mumbled, picking up on the ex-soldier’s subdued tone.

Steve sighed. “He’s at a library we went to. He doesn’t want to leave.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We were hoping you could speak to him.”

“Oh. Um. Yeah, I wanna talk to Brucie.”

He smiled. “Alright,” he agreed, leaving Ms. Walker as he walked back through the shelves to Bruce’s armchair, where Tony and Peter sat by the lost boy.

“Hey, Bruce,” he murmured. “I have someone here who wants to talk to you.”

Bruce wrapped his arms tighter around himself—if that were even possible.

“It’s your cousin, Jen.”

He glanced up a little before forcing his eyes back down.

Steve put the phone into speaker mode and set it at Bruce’s feet.

“Hi, Brucie,” the girl said into the phone. “I miss you a lot. I know you miss me too. And I know that it was really scary to move, but if you didn’t want to stay at your new house, you shouldn’t have run away, you could have told someone. Mom always says that words are better than actions. I don't think your actions have been very nice lately, they made me and Mom and Steve and Tony sad.” The girl pouted, channeling her mother. “I’m just glad you’re not gone now. I was scared, Brucie,” she admitted.

“I think you should go home now. Because he can’t get you anymore, so you should be happy and not be sad because happy is way nicer.” Steve and Tony exchanged a look, especially when he started crying.

Bruce reached down towards the phone but snapped back his hand when he realized what he was doing. He looked up with frightened eyes. Peter was quick though. He picked up the phone and turned off speaker mode and handed it to the older boy. Bruce gave him a watery smile.

Jen continued to speak to her cousin, talking about her day, and which friends she was hanging out with the next night, and how annoying her mom could be.

After a while, his tears subsided and he actually started laughing at Jen’s anecdotes, a rare sound.

Jen spoke loudly into the phone toward the end of their conversation, making her able to be overheard, which was clearly for the rest of the family’s benefit. “Brucie, will you please go home now? It was really scary that you were gone and it wasn’t very nice, so now you have to do a nice thing to make up for that and that means going home,” the eight year old insisted.

“Okay,” he whispered, the first time he’d spoken since the night before.

Jen huffed, “Thank you.”

Bruce gave the phone to Steve shyly, and the father thanked the girl. Bruce slowly crawled out of the chair, setting down the book carefully. Peter hugged him tightly before he allowed Steve to pick the redhead up. Bruce clutched onto Steve’s hand. The blond glanced at Tony, who waved them on.

When the trio disappeared behind the shelves, Tony picked up the book. It had two pages dog-eared in it. The first contained a poem by Michelle A. Moran, “A Tribute To Family.” He smiled, thinking of how would have proudly shown the poem upon finding it, telling her that it was exactly right—and omitting that the fourth stanza had turned out exactly wrong for him.

The second poem told a much different story. It was called “Zane” and the author, Kim Lange, seemed to hit it right on the mark when it came to Bruce. Tony’s stomach clenched reading it. He wondered how Bruce had even found the anthology.

Tony could imagine the boy—his son—flipping between the two poems, trying to validate one with the other.

***

**Re: New Tutoring Group**

    Saturday, October  1, 2016, 12:42 PM

 Steve Rogers <[  _sgrogers@si.biz_](mailto:sgrogers@si.biz)>

 to Leann

_Dear Mrs. Call,_

_Due to Bruce’s recent absence, we do not believe that adding any additional stressors, such as tutoring, would be a good idea at this time. Thank you for the offer._

_Sincerely,_

_Steve Rogers_

 

**Re: New Tutoring Group**

    Saturday, October 1, 2016, 2:34 PM

 Call, Leann <[ lncall@nycpublicschools.net ](mailto:lncall@nycpublicschools.net)>

 to me

_Mr. Rogers,_

_I understand completely. If you change your mind, please let me know. I really enjoy having Bruce in my class and was very worried when I learned that he was gone, so I am glad that he is back in class. If you or your family needs anything, please contact me or the school, we are all happy to help._

_-Leann_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neither poem is, from what I can tell, published in any anthology, but here are the links if you're interested!
> 
> A Tribute To Family-- https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/tribute-to-family
> 
> Zane-- https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/child-abuse-3


	9. Chapter 9

The concrete walls intimidated the small boy, and he clutched on tightly to Tony’s fingers.

“You doing alright, bud?” Tony inquired softly as they paused outside the therapist’s office.

Bruce looked down.

“Can I pick you up?” Tony asked.

Bruce nodded slightly, blushing.

Tony scooped up the boy and cuddled him close to his chest. “If you need to leave the room at any time, you’ll tell Dr. Daher and she’ll come get me.”

“Okay.”

“So, there’s nothing to worry about. Which, I know how that sounds to you, but if something goes wrong, me and Steve will be right there to fix it, yeah?”

Bruce bit his lip. “Thank you,” he whispered, leaning into Tony gratefully. He then started squirming, embarrassed, and Tony let him down.

Tony signed him in with the receptionist, Cathy, holding Bruce’s all the while.

They took a seat in the waiting room and glanced through a few magazines together.

“Bruce Banner?” the receptionist called.

“That would be this munchkin over here,” Tony grinned, standing. Bruce didn’t move.

“Dr. Daher is ready for you.”

“We will be right over,” Tony promised. Bruce shook his head.

The father kneeled down. “What can I do for you?”

“Hurts,” Bruce mumbled, brushing his hands through his hair indicatively.

Your head?” Tony asked, referring to Bruce's tendency to present stress as physical aches.

The parents had gotten better in the past few days at identifying their foster son’s anxiety and how he’d been communicating it. In turn, Bruce had been better at actually communicating it.

“Do you want me to call your cousin?”

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek.

“Bruce, please. What can I do to help?”

The boy’s fingers curled around the bottom of his chair.

“Bud,” Tony murmured. “Give me something here.”

He didn’t react.

“I’ll call Jen, alright?”

Bruce shrugged again—which was as close to a direct ‘Yes’ as they got from the boy at times—eyes staring straight ahead.

Tony sighed, but pulled out his phone, dialing. Elaine picked up right away. “I’ll grab her,” she announced without preamble. The Walters knew where Bruce was now. They made sure of that.

“Hi, Brucie,” Jen squealed into the phone. “Mom says that your at a ther-a-pist’s—” She took extra care to pronounce the word correctly. “—office and that you didn’t want to go talk to the ther-a-pist. But that’s silly because Steve and Tony wouldn’t take you anywhere bad because they're nice,” she encouraged.

“Okay.”

“So you should go say ‘hi’ to the ther-a-pist and then when you’re done you can call Mom and we can talk until I have to go to bed!” They had been doing that a lot recently, having the cousins speak on the phone before Jen’s bedtime since the eight year old’s was earlier. It had done wonders for Bruce’s anxiety, which made both parents guilty about not thinking about keeping some of the good from Bruce’s past with the boy.

“Okay. I’ll go.”

“Okay! Bye bye!”

Bruce smiled a little. “Bye Jenny.”

He slipped off of his chair and followed Tony toward Cathy, who led them back through the offices.

Bruce clutched onto Tony’s hand in trepidation, which Tony was quietly pleased about. “I’ll be in the waiting room the whole time, bud, don’t worry,” the engineer assured. The boy just squeezed his hand tighter.

“And here we are,” Cathy smiled.

A young woman stood at the door, her hair hidden behind a lilac hijab. She smiled down at Bruce. “Hi. I’m Mera,” she greeted.

The boy shifted a little. “My name’s Bruce,” he answered carefully.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Bruce. Why don’t you come in?” she encouraged. “Mr. Stark, Cathy will guide you back to the receptionist area.”

“Bye-bye Bruce. I’ll see you in an hour, okay?”

“Bye-bye,” the boy echoed.

The door shut between them.

“Do you want to play with m, Bruce?” Mera asked, kneeling down to be at eye level with the timid boy.

He shrugged.

“How about I show you some of my toys and we can decide after, alright?” she suggested.

“Okay.”

The therapist guided Bruce through the shelves, showing him the different board games, stuffed animals, and art supplies. Bruce watched, nodded at her questions, and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. He paused when she explained the tub of sand.

“Would you like to play with the sand?” she asked softly.

Bruce took a step back, but didn’t say anything.

“Because I know that I would,” Mera continued.

He shrugged.

“How about we give it a try, and if one of us isn’t having fun, we move onto something else?”

“Okay.”

Mera smiled, and dragged the sandbox into the center of the room, on top of a green rug, in between two plush chairs. She sat with her back against one chair, Bruce taking a spot opposite her. She took off the lid to reveal the various plastic toys inside. She started to play with them, forming scenes until Bruce joined her.

“I thought that since this is our first time together, that we should spend some time getting to know each other, does that sound nice to you?”

“Okay.”

“So how about we take turns asking questions. If you don’t want to answer, you can say pass, and ask me a question, and if I don’t want to answer, I’ll do the same.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to go first?”

Bruce continued to play with the small plastic frogs in front of him.

“Here, I’ll go. What’s your favorite color?” she asked.

Bruce didn’t look up.

“If you don’t have a favorite color, that’s just fine,” she promised. “But I am certainly interested in what you have to say.”

Bruce glanced up. “Yellow,” he finally murmured. His hands gripped hard on the frogs, bracing himself.

Mera recognized it immediately. “Bruce, this is a safe place. I know that you have no proof yet, but I promise that no one will hurt you here.”

Bruce’s grip didn’t loosen.

“Do you want to ask a question now?” Mera asked, hoping to redirect the conversation.

He started lining up a series of army men. “What's your favorite color?” he mumbled, eyes locked on the toys.

She smiled sadly at the echo, “My favorite color is green.” She motioned toward the soft rug.

And so they went, topics ranged from animals—he was fond of birds—to school—which he was very tight lipped about—to people—he by far had the most to say about his foster brother, noting, “He's nice. He likes to play with me. Like Jenny,” although he passed when asked about his cousin, not wanting to share about something so important to him.

About twenty minutes into their session, there was a knock on the door before it opened.

“Cathy?” Mera asked in confusion.

“Mr. Stark was very insistent that Mr. Banner here knew that he had to leave, but that Steve was here now and would be taking him home,” the auburn-haired woman explained.

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek. “Okay,” he murmured, glancing up at Cathy momentarily, before looking away.

“He also wanted me to tell Mr. Banner that he is very sorry that he won’t be able to you until later tonight,” she continued.

“Thank you for telling us.”

“Any time, hun,” the stout woman winked at the pair before shutting the door behind her.

***

With about ten left in the session, the therapist finally broached the reason behind their meeting. “Did anyone explain to you why you’re here?” she asked casually.

Bruce’s cheeks turned bright red. He stared at the plastic shovel he was holding, pushing it further and further into the sand. “Because I’m. I was bad. And they want me to be not bad.”

“How were you bad, dear?”

“I, um, I ran away,” he admitted, grip tightening on the toy.

“Why did you run away?” she asked, drawing a line in the sand, not looking at the child.

He released the zebra and played with a few of the plastic green army men for a moment. “I was scared because, um, Mr. Stark smelled like- Like Dad.”

“It’s understandable to be afraid,” Mera soothed.

Bruce shook his head a little, but didn’t argue.

“How about this,” she suggested, “How about the next time you feel so scared that  you want to run, you tell Peter.”

Bruce let go of his toys, digging his fingers into the rug.

“Just one time, if that even happens. If that doesn't help, we'll figure out something else. Sound good?”

Bruce considered, looking around the shelves. “Okay.”

***

Steve stood up when he saw the pair exit the back offices.

“Thank you, Dr. Daher,” he smiled. “Are you ready to go Bruce?”

The child nodded, waving goodbye to his playmate.

After double checking that Bruce was buckled, Steve pulled into the street. “How did it go?”

"She said I don't have to tell anyone," he mumbled, glancing at Steve's face in the rear-view mirror anxiously, almost defensively, which is a change from the wild panic that had been bubbling under the surface when he’d left the tower earlier that day.

"You're absolutely right" Steve assured him, proud that the boy was drawing boundaries. "I just wanted to know if you liked Dr. Daher. Because if you don't, we can find someone else."

"She's okay," he finally offered.

Steve smiled, “Alright, bud. Just tell us if there's anything we can do to help,” he requested.

"Okay.”

***

“This is Greg Johnson. I’m the prosecutor who represents Rebecca Banner in a trial in Dayton, Ohio. Is this Tony Stark?”

“It is. You’re on speaker phone with me and my husband, Steve.”

“You’re the foster parents of Bruce Banner, correct?”

“Yes,” Steve answered. They sat at the dining room table. The boys were asleep.

“As his legal guardians, I would like to ask you to consider allowing Bruce to testify against his father in the upcoming trial.”

The parents exchanged a look. “As you may have heard from his aunt, no one has any interest in making Bruce testify against his abuser,” Tony said levelly. Steve put his hands over Tony’s.

“Yes, I have heard this. I understand where you are coming from, I was just hoping…” the lawyer sighed. “Is there any chance you would allow him to be judged for competency?”

“Competency?” Steve asked.

“If Bruce is able to accurately and truthfully testify. He is still young enough to have to speak with a judge before being able to testify in court,” Johnson explained.

Steve shook his head. “We don’t wish to put Bruce anywhere near this trial,” he insisted.

“I understand. Thank you for your time.”

“Of course.”

They hung up.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: References to bullying

Peter  and vomit didn’t go well together. 

Tony and Steve knew this of course, as his fathers, but it came as a bit of surprise when Bruce became shock still when learning of Peter’s illness. 

Steve dropped off the visibly shaken boy at school after garnering the promise that if Bruce got any more upset, he’d seek out the counselor, before returning home to stay with his sick child, leaving Tony to pick Bruce up at the end of the school day. 

It had been months since Tony had picked up either of the boys, so it was a bit of a surprise when Bruce immediately started bawling the moment he shut his car door. He wondered momentarily, trying to quell his instant panic, if this were normal, but he quickly disregarded the idea. Steve wouldn’t fail to mention something like that. 

“Bruce?” Tony turned around only to get honked at in the pickup lane. He confirmed that his boy was buckled before pulling forward. “Buddy, what’s wrong?”

The poor child didn’t answer. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe through the tears. 

“Do you want me to call Jen?” the father offered. He felt bad being so reliant on the fiery eight year old, but in times of crisis, she tended to be the only one who could get through to their charge. 

The suggestion only succeeded in making Bruce cry harder, shaking his head so hard Tony wondered if it were possible to self-induce a concussion. 

“Okay.” Tony took a slow breath. Deescalation was important. Decisions were hard when one or both parties were in tears. Tony had first hand experience when it came to that. “Okay, I’ll get us home. Let’s just get home, yeah?” 

Bruce sobbed. 

Tony wasn’t sure why he tried (except no, he knew exactly why). 

Bruce didn’t cry. Not after nightmares, sad movies, bad dad jokes, not after panic attacks (during them, yes, but that’s an uncontrollable action, and he always wiped the tears away in disgust afterward). Nothing. So the fact that he was weeping so openly now was extremely concerning to the father. 

Tony remained relatively quiet on the rest of the ride home, only throwing out soothing words when Bruce’s tears worsened at his internal conflict. 

***

J.A.R.V.I.S, good, wonderful J.A.R.V.I.S. called Steve and the blonde met them in the private parking garage under the Tower. 

“Happy’s with Peter,” he said without prompting. He slipped into the backseat, leaving a couple feet of space between him and the sobbing boy. 

Tony left to go check on his other son, checking over his shoulder to confirm that Steve had this. It wasn’t easy leaving Bruce in such distress, even in Steve’s good care. 

“Hey, bud,” Steve whispered, placing a hand on the center console, offering Bruce physical reassurance, but not forcing it. The child was cagey when he came to it, never sure if the touch was from the same vain of his father or mother. 

He didn’t even seem to notice the hand. He wiped at his eyes furiously, but the tears didn’t end despite his struggle. 

When Bruce was this out of it, it seemed best to just let him tire himself out, despite the parents’ best wishes. Steve was about to start implementing the method, already pulling up an episode of  _ The Zula Patrol _ , which Bruce had taken to after he’d seen Peter’s approval on the show, when the redhead himself climbed onto Steve’s lap, holding a tissue box. 

“Hi Dad,” he greeted softly, voice hoarse. “Hi, Brucie.” He crawled off of his father and into the area that Steve had been leaving open. 

“Dad said that you were sad,” Peter said by way of explanation. He had the colorful patchwork blanket that he had received when he was officially adopted wrapped around his shoulders. The boy grabbed Bruce’s fingers and started playing with them. Bruce didn’t pull away. He watched with wet eyes. 

Steve slowly exited the car, joining Tony across the garage, where he leaned against a post, hands deep in his pockets. 

“Pete asked where Bruce was. I told him Bruce was upset. Peter wouldn’t take ‘No, you need to rest’ as an answer,” the engineer shrugged. 

Steve nodded, accepting the explanation. “This is progress,” he finally responded. “Would Bruce have cried a month ago? No. In front of  _ us? _ Definitely not.”

Tony sighed, leaning against his husband. “I know.”

“So stop putting out bad vibes.”

“I am not!” Tony protested, allowing some of the stress to slide back into the animal part of his brain.

Back in the car, Peter sneezed, wiping his nose with his pajama shirt. “Were Tyler and Keegan picking on you again?” he asked, voice hoarse from his cold.

Tony stepped toward the car, but his husband grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, Pete’s got this,” Steve reminded. 

“I know.”

“So stand down, love.”

“Right.”

“Like, now.”

“Got it.”

“Yeah,” Bruce whispered through his tears. 

“Did you tell Mrs. Call?”

Bruce shook his head, tears slowing. He picked at his still-buckled seat belt. 

“She would’ve taken away their recess.”

“But, I don’t want to…” He shook his head.

“Me don’t deserve two thirty minute recesses,” Peter reported. 

Bruce ran his fingers along the edge of the seats. “But…”

“No buts,” Peter argued. 

The brunette was silent. 

“When I’m not sick, I’ll yell at them,” Peter offered. 

“Okay.”

Peter beamed. “Come on, Bruce,” he encouraged, taking his foster-brother’s hand. The boys filed out of the car. 

***

“There’s a zero percent chance of you going to school tomorrow, Bruce,” Tony reassured. “We’ll talk to your teacher. This should have stopped a long time ago.”

Steve and Peter nodded emphatically. 

Bruce looked up shyly, the support a tad overwhelming. 

“Thank you.”

***

The boys were asleep. Tony always brought it up when the boys were asleep. 

“Steve, we have to tell him about Brian’s trial,” Tony insisted. “Elaine called again, asked if I had told him, but with the car…”

“I know. But he’s had a long day. We can wait until tomorrow.”

“We don’t have much longer,” Tony protested. “It’s already been scheduled.”

“I’m aware, love,” Steve promised, drawing his husband into bed. 

Tony frowned, but laid down anyway. 

“Have you talked to Elaine recently?”

Steve shook his head.

Tony looked around the dark room. “She and Morris are having a rough time apparently.”

“Anything like…”

“No. Nothing like Brian and Rebecca.”

Steve let out a breath. “Good.”

***

“Cathy?” Steve asked. 

“The one and only, Mr. Rogers,” the receptionist answered. 

“Steve. Is there anyway Bruce could speak with Dr. Daher right now?”

“Isn’t Bruce supposed to be at school right now?” Cathy shot back, already preparing to transfer the call. 

“Yes, that’s sort of the issue.”

“Speak away, Mr. Rogers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters to go, bear with me pals!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Lots of references to child abuse

“I was  hoping not to have to meet for another few weeks, at least,” Mrs. Call noted as Steve and Tony, with Peter in tow, entered her classroom a half hour before the bell that indicated the start of school was to go off. They had just dropped Bruce off at the counselor's office. Peter went over to look at the bookshelves, only present his teacher hadn’t yet arrived at the school, so there was no one else to look after him. 

“Yes, well, when you have your child coming home crying because of bullying, you tend not to stay away,” Steve replied, gritting his teeth. 

Mrs. Call sighed as they all sat, Tony setting down a black backpack in between he and Steve. “I can’t believe that something like this could happen. I have never had an issue like this before. I was on recess duty on Wednesday, and I didn’t see anything.” She shook her head. “I just can’t believe that they just suddenly attacked Bruce like this.” 

Across the room, Peter frowned. “They weren’t mean to Bruce on Wednesday,” he informed, voice still rough from his cold. 

“What do you mean?” Tony demanded, facing the boy. 

The redhead nodded, face heating up at the sudden attention. “Brucie wouldn’t let me tell anyone because he said it wasn’t bad. They didn’t talk to him if I was at recess with him.”

“Third and fifth graders only share one recess,” Mrs. Call murmured. 

Tony continued his questioning, “Pete, how long has this been going on?”

Peter shrugged, “Dunno. Like, months or years or something.”

“Since the beginning of school?”

“Probably.” 

Tony slumped back in his seat. “Pete, you have to tell people about this kind of stuff.”

“I wanted to,” Peter whined. “But Bruce said no, and he’s older.” 

Tony let out a breath. 

“Next time, buddy, you tell someone, got it?” 

Peter nodded emphatically. 

“Do you know why they were being mean to Bruce?” 

Peter shrugged. “He said it’s because they thought he was dumb. But he isn’t so.” Peter just shrugged. 

“We have discussed putting Bruce on an IEP,” Mrs. Call murmured, recalling their last meeting. 

Steve, frown planted on his face, reached into the backpack next to Tony, pulling out a stapled packet on paper. “This is Bruce’s weekly homework.” He handed the packet to the teacher. “Tony and I both checked it. Neither of us found one mistake.”

“Bruce’s work usually has a lot more eraser marks,” Mrs. Call remarked. She looked over the sheet. “He did this?” she asked, clearly disbelieving. 

Both parents nodded. “We didn’t touch it.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“We know.”

“He- I haven’t seen him do one of these types of problems right in class. But clearly…”

Steve cleared his throat. “You see our confusion.”

Mrs. Call nodded. She flipped through the packet one more time before handing it back. “I’ll speak with Mr. Franks. There are challenge problems on here for the next unit.” 

Peter perked up at the mention of his gifted teacher, quickly putting the books he’d pulled out away and going to stand next to his fathers. 

“He’ll probably have Bruce take some sort of intelligence test,” she explained, knowing that some parents were cagey when it came to measuring their child’s aptitude.

“We know. Peter’s taken it,” Tony assured. Peter nodded in confirmation.

Mrs. Call wet her lips. “I’ll email Mr. Franks. 

***

Dear Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers, 

Last week, your foster son, Bruce Banner, was tested with the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children (WISC). This test measures intelligence in five categories: Verbal Comprehension Index (VCI), Visual-Spatial Index (VSI), Fluid Reasoning Index (FRI), Working Memory Index (WMI), and Processing Speed Index (PSI). His results are included below. 

      Verbal Comprehension Index (VCI) Score: 149.0

      Visual Spatial Index (VSI) Score:138.0

      Fluid Reasoning Index (FRI) Score: 152.0

      Working Memory Index (WMI) Score: 142.0

      Processing Speed Index (PSI) Score: 161.0

__ **_Composite Score: 148.4_ **

The average score for any child is 100, with a standard deviation of 15 points. Your child is above three standard deviations, meaning that he is part of the .1% of the population in this range.    
Due to his heightened intelligence, there are many steps that can be taken. 1) Your child should be placed in the gifted class and begin to take accelerated courses. 2) Your child can begin taking upper-level classes through the middle school. 3) Your child could skip grades by doing preparatory work during the summer months. Please discuss these options with your child, their teacher, and the counselor before proceeding. I look forward to hearing from you. 

Sincerely, 

Jim Franks

***

“Now, we have ten minutes left before it’s time to leave,” Mera reminded. 

Bruce nodded absently, putting together and quickly dissembling the same three Lego blocks he’d been playing with for his entire session.    
Stress was rolling off him. 

“Your foster fathers were hoping to talk with you in a safe environment about some recent events. Is that okay?”

Bruce looked around the room, the fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, the lava lamp in the corner. 

_ Safe environment. _

He nodded. 

“Alright.” Mera gracefully stood up, going to her desk and having a quick conversation with Cathy. 

Tony and Steve were entering the room within a minute. 

“We’re not going to talk about what we discussed earlier, okay?”

Bruce nodded, not looking up from the bin of Legos in front of him. They’d spent the first half of the session talking about why he hadn’t reported being bullied and how he could better deal with other people being mean.  _ You don’t deserve it, _ being the operative statement throughout the conversation. Old habits should not be present in ten year olds, in Mera’s professional opinion. 

The therapist picked up a folded piece of paper from her desk. She gestured for the parents to take a seat around the coffee table. 

“Bruce, remember when you took the test with Mr. Franks?”

He nodded. 

“Well, Mr. Franks sent a letter to Steve and Tony about the results of the test.”

“Okay.” 

“Do you want to know the results?”

Bruce shrugged, his face turning red and his fingers digging into the sharp edges of the Legos. 

Dr. Daher slowly pried the blocks from his hands and replaced them with a green turtle Pillow Pet. 

Steve and Tony stayed silent, not wanting to interfere.

“Why don’t you want to know?”

Bruce glanced at his therapist. “Bad,” he mumbled, anxiety keeping communication at bay. 

“Do you think you did bad?” 

The boy hugged the Pillow Pet tighter to his chest. 

“We can talk about this another time,” Steve offered, uncomfortable seeing his foster son upset. 

The doctor nodded. “Bruce, I want you to know that you did very well on this test. There is no need to be concerned about how you did.”

She read him wrong. 

Bruce pushed onto his feet, trying to get away from the letter. “Head hurts!” he shouted, gripping tight onto the pillow. “Head hurts! Stop! Bad!”

Steve sprang to his feet. He pulled Bruce into a loose hug, rubbing his back as Bruce dissolved into tears. 

Tony and Mera allowed the ex-soldier to soothe Bruce. 

“Let’s go home, buddy,” he murmured as the boy’s tears came to an end. “Let’s go home.”

***

Despite any form of encouragement provided, Bruce always ended up in his room after panic attacks. It was his safe space, and since no one was willing to take that away from him, he immediately walked back into his bedroom when they returned home. 

The beige walls had been painted light blue a week or two before when Bruce had finally allowed that he didn’t exactly love the color scheme. A bookshelf had been put up, where stacks of books had been added, gifts from Elaine, Steve, and Tony, and even Pepper, Happy, and others in their friend group. Bruce had painstakingly ordered the books one day after school, in a sequence that bore no significance to Steve or Tony, but was clearly important to the child. His suitcase had finally been emptied out the month before when Bruce had been doing laundry and found that the dresser and clothing rods in his closet were better storage than a ratty old bag. Besides, he wasn’t leaving any time soon. 

Especially at the moment, where he was trying to cope with a swimming mind and shaking hands. 

Steve and Tony weren’t entirely sure what he did in there. Once or twice they’d gone in to check on him and found him asleep, but most of the time when they looked, he was staring unseeingly at the bookshelf, lost. 

“Can I play with Brucie?” Peter asked, kicking his legs underneath the dinner table. Even after witnessing quite a few panic attacks, the redhead still had trouble recognizing when Bruce wasn’t up for being around others. 

“Maybe after we eat,” Steve offered. 

“Do you want to play?” 

“Pete, finish eating,” Tony reminded, before he turned to see his foster son standing at the entrance of the dining room. 

The boy bit his lip, but didn’t answer, which was as close to a ‘no’ as they got sometimes. Bruce slowly skirted along the walls until he was behind his chair. He fiddled with the wooden back, staring at his placemat. 

“Do you want to eat-?” Tony started. 

Peter interrupted. “Brucie?” 

“Um. Dr.- Dr. Daher says that telling people makes things better.” He gripped harder onto the chair. 

No one stopped him, concern palpable. 

“And it’s not good now. My tummy hurts and.” He took a shaking breath. “I want it to be better,” he finally admitted. Bruce sat down. “Daddy was not good.” He chose his words carefully. “He didn’t like it when I was smart. He got mad and hurt… I wasn’t smart anymore. And then, Mommy-” Bruce shook his head harshly, running his fingers along the table, not looking up. “I don’t want to be smart. I don’t like it.” He clenched his hands into fists. “And it’s not fair.”

***

Peter looked sick, his face pale. Tony sucked in a deep breath, his own hands shaking. 

“Pete, let’s go play in the lab,” he offered, picking up his son and heading off to the elevator. Peter’s lab time was strictly limited by Steve, but the blonde didn’t seem to notice what had been said, only that he was now alone with his very upset foster son. 

“I didn’t want to make them leave,” Bruce apologized, arms wrapped around his middle. “I can go, they don’t have to-”

“They just need a minute to calm down, buddy, alright? Nobody’s mad,” the father assured. 

Bruce shook his head in a rare display of direct disagreement. He fiddled with his placemat. 

“Hey, buddy?”

The curly-haired boy looked up. “Yes?”

“You know how your dad is in jail?”

Bruce’s hands dropped to his lap. He nodded. 

Steve leaned his head in his hands. “Well, he has to go to trial, to make sure he stays there.”

The boy glanced up quickly. “Head hurts,” he mumbled quickly. 

“Do you need me to stop?” Steve asked, switching to the seat next to Bruce. 

Bruce nodded, tears slipping down their cheeks. Steve offered his hand, and Bruce took it, indicating that physical contact felt safe. Steve picked up the boy, settling him onto his hip, and rubbed his back. Bruce wormed his head into the crook of Steve’s next. 

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“Bad.”

“Never.

“Can I keep going, or do you want me to stop forever?”

Bruce played with Steve’s shirt collar. “Go.”

One word answers were concerning, but they were far better than no word answers. 

“Nobody wants you to have to see him, ever again,” Steve promised. Bruce snuggled closer. “But, with your permission, I would like to tell the judge what happened to make sure that your dad never leaves jail.”

***

“Elaine?”

“Hello, Tony. It’s always a pleasure.”

“Isn’t it,” the engineer said ruefully, knowing how each phone call he sent to the aunt carried more and more stress. “How’s Jen? And Morris?”

“Jennifer's good. Morris is…” She made a weird noise. “He seems to be doing fine,” Elaine explained, her voice tight. She sighed. “How are you all?”

Tony rolled one of Peter’s toy cars along his desk. “We, uh. We had a rough day. Bruce… He told us a lot about his- his dad, and… God, I hate that bastard.” The billionaire shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “Bruce isn’t testifying,” Tony asserted. “But we wanted to know your thoughts on if Steve did.”

“Well, getting Bruce tested for competency would definitely have been more of a waste,” she joked shortly. 

Tony couldn’t help but agree. Hadn’t that been a stressful Saturday. 

“Don’t I know it,” he remarked lowly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go! It's a behemoth but I promise it will be here next Tuesday! Hang tight!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For chaptering purposes, I split the last chapter into two, but I'm posting the last chapter today!
> 
> Also, you know the drill, references to child abuse.

Jennifer  bounded down the stairs, tripping a few times over the books and toys strewn there. 

“Bruce!” she exclaimed upon reaching the entryway. She pulled him into a hug immediately, which was still a bold move in the Stark-Rogers household, but of course, Jen was the exception, because Bruce hugged her right back. His stiff posture crumbled and his eyes fluttered closed in contentment. 

Steve couldn’t help but feel warm at the change, finally able to see his foster son at his most comfortable. 

Elaine came up beside Steve. “It’s good to see her happy.”

Steve hummed. “Same with Bruce.” He couldn’t help but notice the absence. “Where’s Morris?” It was late Sunday night. Steve was fairly certain the sheriff only worked days, and never during the weekend. 

“Daddy lives in a hotel now, because Mommy said that he did a naughty thing and needs to get his head straightened out,” Jennifer reported, causing her mother to cover her mouth in embarrassment. 

“Oh” was all Steve could think of to say.  

“But I get to play at the hotel pool every weekend, though, so it’s okay.”

“Okay.” Steve glanced at Elaine for confirmation, but she seemed a bit shocked at Jen’s comment as well. 

“Bruce, come look at my new Tsum Tsums! I have a Tigger one now!” She grabbed Bruce’s hand and led him up to her bedroom, detached from her family's breaking. Bruce looked elated to finally be back playing with his cousin again. 

Steve smiled. “Glad they’re still having fun.”

Elaine nodded. “Come on.” She gestured toward her dining room. 

“Tell me about tomorrow.”

***

Steve was very glad that he decided not to use Uber for a ride. Taking the extra minute to focus his breathing as he parked was beyond necessary and he didn’t think that a middle-aged stoner would appreciate it if he spent those few seconds in the back of his mom’s minivan. 

Or maybe he wouldn’t mind all that much. Steve wouldn’t know. 

He climbed out of the rental car and made his way up the steps of the courthouse.

He successfully walked through the metal detector and all the way through the echoing halls to Courtroom 3B.  

Steve sat in the back of the room, waiting for Mr. Johnson, the prosecutor, to arrive. Twenty minutes before the trial was scheduled to begin, with the room filling up with members of the press and public, Greg slipped in. He motioned Steve to follow him up to his desk. He was spreading out notes from his briefcase as he spoke, face grim. 

“Mr. Rogers, although it’s unlikely, you may be on the list of excluded witnesses.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” he sighed tiredly, “that you may be asked to leave the courtroom until it’s your turn to testify, so that your testimony doesn’t get tainted by others’ statements. But since you’re allotted to testify second and Officer Ramirez is before you, I highly doubt that you will be due to the different content of your testimonies, but I thought I should warn you just in case.”

Steve nodded, “Alight. So what’s wrong?” 

Greg looked up from his notes and at a clock on the far wall. 

Five minutes until Brian would enter the courtroom. Ten until the judge joined them. 

Greg went back to organizing his papers. “Last night, about ten minutes before it would’ve been too late, the defense changed tactics. They added a psychologist to their witness list as well as entering a series of emails between Mr. Banner and a psychiatrist from when Mr. Banner was in college.”

The attorney straightened up. “I believe he intends to plead not guilty by reasons of insanity.”

Steve felt his heart crawling up his throat. “Wouldn’t you know by now?”

The lawyer shook his head. “He didn’t plead either way at the arraignment, and you’re not required to until, well, now.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s fine,” he reassured. “Only a fourth of people who actually plead insanity are believed. And almost all of those who are believed were diagnosed before the crime.” He looked up at the ex-soldier. “It’ll be fine,” he repeated. “Now go find your seat.” 

***

Steve was not excluded, but about halfway through the defense’s opening statement, he was starting to wish he was. 

Mr. Johnson’s opening statement went by just fine. The truth was plainly laid out, not a moment of confusion crossed the jurors’ faces. Steve leaned his arms on his knees. 

It wasn’t going to be enough. 

“The prosecution just told you a very scary, very compelling  _ story _ . This story certainly made me want to put some extra deadbolts on my front door tonight.” A few jurors laughed. Others looked appalled. Steve clenched his fists. “What we must note about this story is that it is just that: a story, fiction. Yes, Rebecca Banner died. That much is true. But as to the rest of the details…” she shrugged. “I am here to inform you about the true events on that night, starting with the actual lead up: Rebecca Banner was attempting to take her son away from a loving father. She had packed their bags and was, essentially, attempting to kidnap their son.” Steve bit his knuckles in an effort to keep from protesting. “When the defendant, her husband, Brian Banner followed them outside, he saw what any husband would: a deranged wife hurting their child. In a fit of despair and, yes, insanity, he attempted to separate the pair in order to save his son, which ultimately resulted in Rebecca’s tragic death. 

“The prosecution will try to convince you of their own timeline of events. They will tell you tales of abuse and alcoholism about a man who would never hurt a fly and who has been a member of the Dayton AA chapter for the last fifteen years. Do not allow their appeal to your emotions sway your judgement, dear jurors. A man’s life is a stake. No one should be victim to their own disorder in such a way as he has.” The courtroom held its breath. “Thank you.”

Steve felt himself deflate. 

The members of the press were scribbling away on their notepads, barely matching the court reporter’s speed at typing the transcript from where he sat at the front of the room. 

The bailiff went to retrieve the police officer who had been the first to arrive on the scene from the hallway. For whatever reason, the judge, Ezekiel Bowman, didn't want her to hear the opening statements. Steve wondered how he was being swayed by being allowed to stay. 

Officer Ramirez was sworn in and Mr. Johnson quickly rehashed his initial claims: a sick husband, a hurting wife, a cruel murder. 

“When you arrived at the scene, who was present?”

“Brian Banner, Rebecca Banner, and their son.” 

Steve couldn’t help but feel reassured that no one was saying Bruce’s name. 

“No one else?” Greg continued. 

“No.”

“And in what state was Mrs. Banner in?”

The officer sighed. “She had been badly beaten. There was blood in her hair, on her face. She was dead before I got there. Upon further examination, I saw older bruises and more recent defense wounds along her forearms. Her fingernails were broken.” 

“What about Mr. Banner? How did he look?”

“Mr. Banner was standing to the side, by their car, which was still running. He was yelling at their son, who was inside the car. He had blood on his hands and the front of his shirt, but did not have any of his own wounds. His pants were ripped. He was clearly angry.”

Greg nodded. “Can  you describe what occurred while you were at the Banner household?”

Ramirez took a moment to recall, remaining objective. “I announced myself to Mr. Banner. He began to get agitated. I asked him to calm down. He did not. He turned on me, began acting threateningly, yelling, pointing. Then a second squad car arrived. When Mr. Banner began threatening them as well, we restrained him and put him in the back of the second squad car. They left soon after, taking Mr. Banner to our station for questioning. I stayed because their son was still locked in their car. I asked him to let me in. After some convincing, he did. I attempted to speak with him about what happened, but he was unresponsive.” 

“How did he appear, physically, to you?” Greg interrupted. 

“He looked… sick. Malnourished, would be the better word. He was visibly upset. He wasn’t crying, but he had been. He was buckled into his seat and become more upset when I tried to release the buckle.”

“What did you do from there?” 

“I called a social worker who I knew worked odd hours, Abby Conner. She arrived within a half hour, wherein I stayed in the car, and then took the son to the police station to get things sorted out. I stayed and waited for detectives to arrive to canvas the scene and offer them any help. The house is in the countryside. The nearest neighbors are a mile or so down the road, so I had to waited about thirty minutes for the two detectives to arrive.” 

“And at any of that time at the house, did you see any evidence of another person being there?”

“No.”

“Thank you.” Greg faced the judge, indicated he was done with the direct examination, and sat back down. He stayed attentive throughout the cross examination, scribbling notes here and there.

The defense attorney, Ms. Lisa Nguyen, walked briskly around her table. “Ms. Ramirez, at any point, to your knowledge, did Mr. Banner indicate that he knew that his wife was dead?”

The officer’s face hardened. “No.” 

“Did he ever look at her? Only to your knowledge.”

“No.”

“Now, you said that Mr. Banner was ‘clearly angry.’ Could you expand on that?”

“He was in an agitated state. He looked capable and prepared to cause harm to others.”

“Did he seem aware of his surroundings?”

“No. He was very focused on their son. And he did not realize I had arrived until I had gotten into his line of sight.”

“So you could say he was out of his mind?”

“Objection. The question calls for speculation.” Mr. Johnson stood.

“Sustained,” the judge agreed. 

Ms. Nguyen nodded thoughtfully, changing subjects at the roadblock. 

“While you were in the car with their son, did he ever indicate to you that he had seen the events of that night?”

“The son did not speak the entirety of the time I was present. He did not look at me except to let me into the vehicle.”

“So you do not know if he witnessed his mother’s death?”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Thank you.”

The judge turned back to Mr. Johnson, offering him his second examination, which the prosecution took. 

“Officer, had you met Mr. Banner before arriving on the scene?”

“No.”

“So you cannot comment on his normal demeanor?”

“No, I cannot.”

And that concluded the first witness. 

Steve couldn’t help but feel himself fill with dread. He was the second witness. 

***

Thankfully, the judge called for a recess. 

“How’s it going?” Elaine sounded nervous. 

Steve leaned his head back against the brick building. “I’m… The defense is pleading insanity.”

Elaine cursed. 

“I don’t think it’s going well. I haven’t testified yet, but.” He closed his eyes. “I wasn’t there.” He sighed. “Are the kids around?”

“They’re upstairs.”

“Can I talk to Bruce?” 

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Of course.”

He heard her go upstairs, the mufflied explanation to the cousins. 

“Hi.”

“Hey, Bruce,” Steve breathed. 

“Um. My dad’s not in jail.”

“No,” he agreed. “But there are two police officers that are making sure that he can’t leave the courthouse.”

“Oh.”

“And I would never let him come anywhere near you.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, so Steve assumed he’d nodded. 

“Hi, Mr. Rogers!”

Jennifer had somehow acquired the phone. 

“Hello, Jen,” he smiled. 

“I thought Mommy said that you couldn’t talk because you were at, um, court.” 

Steve sighed. “Normally I can’t, but we’re on recess right now.”

Jen giggled. “Recess? Are there monkey bars?”

“You’d make a good lawyer,” Steve smirked. “You ask the real questions.”

“Thank you,” Jen remarked mischievously. 

“Take care of Bruce for me, will ya?” he asked jokingly. 

“Yep!”

He spoke lowly with Elaine for a few more minutes, and was about to call Tony, when Mr. Johnson tapped on his shoulder. 

“You’re up,” he said. 

***

Steve had witnessed and had  _ had _ a fair share of panic attacks. So he knew that this wasn’t one. 

And yet… this somehow felt so much worse than one. 

He swore to tell the truth and gave his name and Greg stood. 

“Mr. Rogers, what is your relationship to Brian Banner?”

“I am the foster parent of his son.”

Greg nodded. “And so you have heard, from his son, the events of Rebecca Banner’s death?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell the court what happened that night?”

“Objection. Heresy.”

Greg had warned Steve that Lisa would probably object to this because it called for him to report someone else’s words. If she did, then half his testimony would be down the drain. 

“Sustained.”

“How long has their son lived with you?”

“About two months.”

“Would you consider the child traumatized?”

“Objection. Question calls for speculation.”

“Alright. Off this list of characteristics—” Greg pulled the paper off his desk from where he’d set it down that morning “—which ones does your foster son exhibit? One…”

As Mr. Johnson went through the list, Steve only became more sick. There were fifteen items on the list. Bruce exhibited twelve of them. 

His head spun. He glanced at the jury and they mostly looked appalled. When he looked at Brian, the murderer seemed proud. Steve clenched down on his nausea. 

“Based on these symptoms, would you consider your foster son and anyone else who experiences such disorders to have been exposed to trauma?”

“Yes.”

“You said that your foster son experiences nightmares, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what they are about?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“After… after he has a nightmare, he’ll usually wake up having a panic attack. Sometimes, he will talk about it while he’s panicking.”

“So these statements are made while he’s in duress?”

“Yes.”

Greg gave a pointed look to Ms. Nguyen. 

“Can you tell us what he has said?”

“Um. Okay, He has three general nightmares, from what we’ve been able to gather. One about his father, in general. After these, he’ll talk about being hurt, or not wanting his mother to be hurt. He’s mentioned waiting for his mom to come to get him when it’s safe again a few times. The next nightmare, arguably his most reoccurring, is about his mother’s death. He doesn’t usually comment on this one, it’s more like he’s reexperiencing it, like a flashback. He yells for his mom, for his dad to stop hurting her. If we can’t get him to calm down fast enough, he’ll start to promise that he’ll stop crying.” Steve swallowed. “And then the last one’s… more related to the Devil. As in hell. Doesn’t really have a bearing on this. We only know about it because our adopted son told us that Bruce told him about it.”

“These nightmares about Rebecca Banner’s death, are his reactions always the same? As in the timeline of what he says?”

“Yes.” 

“Thank you.”

As draining as that had been, Steve knew he wasn’t even close to being done. 

Lisa stood. “Mr. Rogers, have you met the defendant?”

“No.”

“Can you tell us what he’s like? Anything about his personality? His drinking habits? Where he works?”

“No.”

“Did you witness the death of Rebecca Banner?”

“No.”

“Thank you.”

And, damn, that hurt.

***

“I know this is a long shot, but.” Greg looked at Steve imploringly. “You weren’t there. Bruce was.”

Steve shook his head, appalled. “No. No. He’s not going in that room.”

“Mr. Rogers,” Greg sighed. “You were our equivalent of an eyewitness testimony. Your son told you what happened, but if they’re pleading insanity… Nobody in that house is left to testify to Brian’s behavior from before except for Bruce. I’ve reviewed the evidence they entered, they have a decent chance of being in that point ‘O’ three percent.” 

“Greg, I can’t do this to him. I can’t allow him to be even further traumatized by that man.”

Brian was being escorted out. Chains, cops, the whole nine-yards, but nobody paid him any notice. 

Steve seethed. 

“Let me talk to Elaine.”

“No.” Steve turned back to the lawyer. 

“Why not?”

“You’ll try to wheedle her like you’re trying to wheedle me and I don’t want any more wheedling than necessary.”

“So you admit that I’m wheedling, even just a little?”

“We’re not in court.”

Greg shrugged, motioning at the ornate white building behind him. “Kind of are.”

“Don’t start, you sound just like my husband.”

“Can I talk to Elaine?”

“Fine!”

Steve pulled out his phone and dialed her number in agitation. 

“Steve?”

“You got a moment?”

Elaine sighed. “Kids are upstairs, watching a movie.”

“Greg was wanting to talk to you…”

“About?”

“He wants to- to add Bruce to the witness list.”

“No.”

“I agree.”

“Give him the phone.”

***

Mr. Johnson didn’t get a word in edgewise after that. 

When Elaine finally wound down, Greg handed the phone back to Steve. 

“I talked to Bruce.”

Steve waited. 

“I’m setting an extra spot at dinner. Mr. Johnson will be joining us.”

Steve waited. 

“It’s the only way to get that crazy idea out of his head.”

Steve waited. 

“Steve?”

“I don’t want him anywhere near my son.”

Steve wasn’t even sure who he was referring to at that point. 

“I’ll be back in half an hour. Tell Bruce hi for me.”

***

“Hey, buddy.” Steve kneeled down next to his boy.. “How was your day?”

Bruce fiddled with the hem of his shirt. 

“I played with Jen.”

“Did you have fun?”

Bruce nodded happily. 

Steve’s smile widened. There was something about his cousin that brought a light out of Bruce.

“Are you ready for dinner?”

Bruce nodded a little less happily and Steve cursed himself for that. But he followed Bruce into Elaine’s dining room. Greg was already in there being battered by questions from Jennifer. 

Steve was almost tempted to object. Almost. 

He left Bruce in the good care of his cousin and went to go help Elaine set the table. 

Dinner was tense, as was to be expected. 

No one talked except for Jen, who was very intent on getting more than a one word response. Bruce didn’t eat much, more interested in pushing his food around his plate. It was another example of behavioral whiplash for Steve. Bruce didn’t play with his food. He’d watch Peter instead and match eating rates. 

Just another example of how good Jen was for Bruce and how much Steve wished he could talk the girl back to New York with him. 

Just as they were finishing up, Steve’s phone starting ringing. 

When he saw it was his husband, he excused himself and went out onto the front porch. 

“Hey.”

“Hey, Tony.”

“How is everything? How’s Bruce?”

“Bruce is doing really good though. I’m petitioning to fly Jen out to New York every other day. He’s so happy when he’s around her. I wish you could see it. But the trial’s… not looking great. Mr. Johnson is at Elaine’s house right now, trying to get some stuff figured out.”

“Bruce is not-”

“I know. We all know,” Steve reassured. 

Tony sighed. “Peter wants to say ‘hi’.”

“Well don’t keep me waiting.” He sat down on the stoop. 

“Hi, Dad!” 

“Hey bud,” the father grinned, tension rolling off him. 

When they finished talking, he said goodbye to Tony and returned to the dinner table where he heard the tail end of the question ”-feel safe?” being asked by the guest lawyer. 

Steve balked. ”We talked about this. Bruce isn’t going anywhere near Brian.” His fist clenched on the back of his chair. 

Bruce visibly shrunk back at Steve’s obvious anger. The father relaxed his stance. 

“Steve,” Elaine muttered. 

“No, there is no way in-”

“Mr. Rogers,” Bruce whispered, eyes down.

Steve knelt down. “Yeah, buddy?” 

They’d long given up on the Tony and Steve thing. 

Bruce glanced at the blonde. “My daddy is a really, really bad.” Bruce stared down at his half full plate. Steve wasn’t especially happy that Mr. Johnson had interrupted Bruce’s much needed food intake. 

The boy wiped at his eyes, upset that he was getting upset. “He’s scary and makes me cry and he h-hurt Mom.” He hiccupped in his tears. “I don’t want to go anywhere near him.”

Steve made a ‘see’ motion at the lawyer. 

“But I don’t want him near anyone else.”

Silence. 

Steve offered Bruce his hand, but the boy just took shaky breaths until he calmed down, edging around panic, but avoiding it. 

“If- if I have to go and um, um, tell everyone, even if he’s um...” Bruce looked back at his hands. “I don’t want him to hurt anyone else,” he whispered. 

“Okay, buddy,” Steve breathed. “We won’t let him.”

***

Bruce wants to testify… 

I’m freaking out

He’s going to be in the same room as Brian

Please

Tony. 

 

shit

why

what changed

Brian is pleading insanity

So my testimony isn’t good enough for some reason

Greg talked to Bruce 

And Bruce decided to testify

why am I just learning about this?

i literally just called you… 

Sorry

Been busy with court 

And I didn’t want Pete to hear

it’s ok

shit 

bruce volunteered?

Yes

ok then

let’s do this 

***

The kids were asleep. 

Elaine was showering. 

Greg was getting lectured. 

Steve was doing said lecturing. 

“You understand that he’s not good at saying that he’s upset? That he could be mid-panic attack and wouldn’t say anything?”

“Yes. But-”

“The best he does right now is saying that his head hurts. We’re not sure if he’s talking physically or mentally—stress gives you headaches—and his therapist hasn’t said anything when we’ve asked. So if he says his head hurt, you really have to stop talking about it.”

“I know, it’s just-”

“He’ll shut down, if he doesn’t panic. Stop answering questions. You have to understand, Brian-”

“Steve.”

The parent quieted. 

“I know that this is going to be difficult, but you’re going to have to trust. Yes, you’re allowed in the courtroom during Bruce’s testimony. And yes, you will be sitting right next to him, but you can’t interrupt the trial. If I see Bruce getting upset, I’ll object, but if you try to stop the proceedings it won’t look good for our case. Do you understand?”

“I- no. No. Bruce is far more important than court proceedings.”   
Greg shook his head. “I know. But-”

“That’s final.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to child abuse.

The press  and other members of the public were streaming out of the courtroom. 

Steve kept a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, noting how the boy edged back from both the crowd and the bailiff that had been sent to retrieve them. 

Once the room was emptied except for the attorneys, the judge, the jury, and the defendant, they were led back inside. 

The room felt as though it were holding its breath as Steve entered, staying directly behind Bruce. He’d thought that the space had been eerie yesterday when it was full. It was only worse now when the ratio of Bruce to people who weren’t his abusive father was so low. 

Brian’s gaze bore into the child. His fists clenched around his knees. Like the day before, he was dressed in a suit and a look of disgust was planted on his face. . 

Bruce pressed back into his foster father. 

“Head hurts,” he mumbled. 

“I know, buddy.” He ran a hand over Bruce’s head. “I’ve got you.”

A screen was set up in front of the witness stand, separating Bruce from his father. It was flimsy at best. 

They slipped up there, Brian’s angry eyes never leaving them. 

When asked, Bruce placed his hand on the Bible. Rebecca had been Catholic. Steve wondered if Bruce felt the weight of the symbol in front of him or if it was just another book, as Brian would have insisted. 

“I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,” Bruce repeated after the court registrar. 

Steve had forgotten how adult Bruce would sound when uncomfortable. 

He slipped his fingers back into Steve’s grip.

The blonde sat on the steps that led into the stand, watching Brian while still comforting his foster son. 

“Please state your name for the court.”

The child blinked hard. “Bruce Banner.” His voice shook, but he was louder than his normal tone. 

“Do you know the accused?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“He’s, um. He’s my dad.” 

“Do you see him in this room?”

“Yes.”

“Can you point to him?”

He let go of Steve’s hand with one hand, leaving the other. He pointed with trembling fingers to his father from around the screen. 

“Let it be known that the witness pointed at Brian Banner.”

Bruce flinched at the name. 

“Bruce, were you there when your mom died?”

“Yes.”

“Did you watch?”

“No.”

Greg took a moment, not expecting that answer. “Why not?”

“Um. Didn’t- um. My- my dad was, um, and my mom-” He gripped tighter onto Steve. 

“Was your mom getting hurt?”

Bruce relaxed a little at the straightforward question. 

“Yes.”

“Did you not want to see her get hurt?”

“Yes. I mean. Um. No. I don’t like watching my mom when. No.” He shook his head. 

Greg bit his lip. 

“Did you see your mom get hurt before?”

“Objection. Question is immaterial,” Lisa protested. 

“Overruled. Go ahead and answer, son,” the judge added when Bruce didn’t speak. 

Steve rubbed Bruce’s back when he didn’t react. 

“Oh. Um. Yes.”

“Who hurt her?”

“Head hurts.” He tugged at Steve’s hand. 

Mr. Johnson rephrased. “Are you afraid of who hurt her?”

“Ye-yes.”

Steve took a deep breath, hoping Bruce would mimic him. 

“Did that person hurt you too?”

“Objection,” Ms. Nguyen interrupted. “Your Honor, this trial is about the death of Rebecca Banner, not potential child abuse.”

“Sustained.”

Greg nodded. “Can you tell me who hurt your mom?”

Steve stared down Brian, willing the man to lose his intimidation factor for ten seconds. Brian inclined his head at Bruce’s silence. Steve glared harder. 

“Um.” Bruce looked at his hands. Steve heard a quiet, “My dad.”

“Can you repeat that at a louder volume?” the judge asked. 

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and squeaked, “My dad.”

Steve’s heart pounded in his chest. 

“Did your father hurt your mom on the night of her death?”

“Yes.” 

“Did you see your mother die?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I, um.” Bruce looked at Steve imploringly. The father detached a hand and rubbed his back. “I was scared and I looked away. I don’t like watching my- my mom get hurt.”

“Then how can you say, with confidence, they your father killed your mother?”

“He was the only one there.”   
Greg nodded. “Now, we’re going to switch gears a little bit. The defense pleads insanity due to your father having Intermittent Explosive Disorder. Do you know what this is?”

“No.”

“I’m going to read some symptoms. You’re going to tell me if your father has exhibited something similar to this, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Does your father have a lack of impulse control that results in verbal or physical aggression?”

“Yes.”

Across the room, Lisa smiled smugly. 

“Does your father react to small problems or setbacks in big ways?”

“Yes.”

“Does your father plan to get upset?”   
“No.”

Bruce seemed to be relaxed now that he could give one-word answers again. 

“Are most if not all of the outbursts due to the consumption of alcohol?”

“Yes.”

“How often did your father drink while you were living with him?”

Bruce thought a moment. “Every day.”

“Several times a day?”

“All day. If, um, if we had money.”

“Did you often have money?”

Bruce nodded. “When he didn’t play cards.”

“So your father had behavior that would correspond with this disorder, but it was caused by alcohol usage?”

“Yes.”   
“Your father was also, in college, diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Do you know what this is?”

“No.”

“I’m going to explain the disorder, and you’re going to tell me if your father fits the description, okay?”

“Okay.”

“For periods of time, did your father ever seem energetic, talk fast, get highly motivated, move around a lot? And then, for a similar period of time right after, sleep more, not move around as much, talk less, not be motivated?”

“No.”

“So you would say that your father was fairly consistent in his behavior?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

***

Steve thought they were going to have a break. 

It was a long testimony, Bruce was visibly upset, it seemed logical. 

Instead, Lisa popped right up. 

“Has your father seemed out of control to you before?”

“Yes.”

“Does this include compulsively drinking?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you?”

Bruce shifted uncomfortably. “Ten.”

“So you did not know your father while he was in college, when he was being diagnosed with bipolar disorder?”

“No.”

“Do you remember telling Mr. Johnson that you did not see your mother die?”

“Yes.”

“And why weren’t you watching again?”

“Objection. Question is asked and answered.”

“Sustained.”

Lisa continued. “You said you were scared. Why were you scared?”

“My- my dad…”

“He was there, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Was he angry?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“My, um. My mom wanted to leave, because-”

“Had your mother tried to leave before?”

“No.”

“Why was she trying to leave this time, then?” 

“Um. I don’t- I don’t know.”

Bruce was fighting to keep tears out of his eyes. Compared to this fast pace of questioning, Greg had been slower than a snail. 

“She put you in the car, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then your father came outside, did he not?”

“Yes.”

“Then what happened?”

“My dad started yelling at- at my mom, and-”

“Did your mom yell back?”

“Yes.” Bruce squeezed tightly onto Steve’s hand. 

“What were they yelling about?”

“I don’t re- remember.”

“Did you look away at this point?”

“Yes.”

“So did you see your father touch your mother?”

“No.”

“Do you know for a fact that it was your father who caused her death.”

“Yes.”

“How? You weren’t watching?”

“Objection. Badgering the witness.”

Steve felt his shoulders relax. This had been getting out of hand. 

“Overruled.”

And there went that grip. 

“Did you actually see your father kill your mother?”

“Head hurts.” Bruce tugged at Steve. 

“Please answer the question. Did you see your father murder your mother?”

Steve raised his hand. 

He was ignored. 

“Bad.”

“You are required by law to answer this question.” 

He stood. “Can we take a break?”

“Mr. Rogers, you are in no way supposed to take part in the proceedings,” the judge reminded, but he looked doubtful. 

“I understand, Your Honor. But he isn’t going to ask for himself. Can we take a break?”

The judge regarded Bruce, who was pale and clutching tightly onto Steve. His eyes were glassy unfocused. 

“We’ll take a ten-minute recess,” he decided. 

Steve pulled Bruce into his arms. 

“You’re okay buddy,” he promised. 

Brian was watching them. 

He held Bruce close, a hand in the back of his head, the other holding him to his chest. 

“You’re okay.”

They didn’t leave the stand during the recess; there was no point in exposing Bruce to his father any more than he had to. 

Greg came up to them. 

“I was going to object again,” he said shortly. 

Steve shook his head. 

“I was faster.”

Bruce shuddered. 

***

“I’m here outside the Dayton Municipal Court, where the Courtroom 3B has just been emptied due to the surprise testimony of the son of the defendant Brian Banner. This testimony was not on the witness list as of last night, likely leaving the defense at a loss. Yesterday, foster father Steve Rogers testified that the son was present while Rebecca Banner was brutally murdered, but the rest of his testimony was essentially thrown out due to the insanity plea from the defense. More news to come, back to you Mike.”

***

The elevator ride up to their apartment was arguably longer than their flight back from Dayton, Steve mused. 

Peter was the first to the door and was quick to pull Bruce into a hug. Steve couldn’t help but remember Jen and Bruce’s embrace and noted that they contained a similar sort of love. He smiled. 

Tony pulled Steve into his arms and Steve smiled again against his husband’s lips. 

Everyone showered Bruce with praise for being so brave and told him how happy they were that he was home. 

“I missed you,” their son whispered. 

The family glowed. 

***

Update  

    Friday, November  5, 2016, 7:04 AM

 Call, Leann < [ lncall@nycpublicschools.net ](mailto:lncall@nycpublicschools.net) >

 to me, Stark, Tony < [ _ aestark@si.biz _ ](mailto:aestark@si.biz) >

_ Dear Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark, _

_ I was just contacting you to inform you that the two boys that have bullying Bruce have been given in school suspension because it has recently come out that Bruce wasn’t their only target. I am so sorry that this went on for so long.  _

_ In other news, Bruce has been added to the gifted roster for next semester and we are looking forward to seeing him grow! _

_ -Leann _

Re: Update

    Friday, November  5, 2016, 2:28 PM

 Steve Rogers < [ _ sgrogers@si.biz _ ](mailto:sgrogers@si.biz) >

 to Leann 

_ Dear Mrs. Call, _

_ Thank you for letting me about the boys. We are very excited for Bruce to start gifted and Bruce himself can’t wait! _

_ -Steve _

***

“Hey, Bruce?” Tony knocked on the door, shifting the weight of the blanket he was holding. 

Bruce opened the door to his bedroom. He looked up at his foster father curiously. 

“Can we talk for a minute?” 

The child nodded, briefly anxious, before settling down. He followed Tony into the living room where Steve and Peter were sitting. 

Tony pat the seat open next to him, indicating for Bruce to sit down, which he did. 

“Hey, bud. So, we’ve been talking and… we really like having you around,” Tony started. Steve grabbed his hand and Peter wiggled in his seat excitedly. 

“And we were wondering if you’d like to stay with us. If we could, you know. Adopt you,” Steve finished. 

Bruce glanced up at them. “You don’t have to,” he mumbled, cheeks bright red. 

“We know we don’t,” Tony assured. “But we want to,” he promised. 

“We’re not making you,” Steve continued, “But we’d really love to keep you in our family permanently.”

“Oh.” Bruce fiddled with his shirt. 

Peter crossed the room and gave Bruce that blanket out of Tony’s hands. “Please stay?” he asked. 

“Okay.”

***

The next day, Bruce was helping Tony prepare a celebratory dinner, when the father’s phone went off. 

“Hello?” Tony asked, sticking the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could continue cutting lettuce for the salad. Bruce sat on the counter next to him holding the recipe for spaghetti that Steve had written. He and Peter were at a dentist appointment.      
“Is Bruce with you?”

“Yeah. What’s up, Elaine?”

“Put your phone on speaker,” she requested excitedly.

“Alright…” Tony did as she asked, setting the phone on the counter. 

Bruce gave Tony a confused look. 

“I just got a call from Mr. Johnson,” Elaine began. “And he just got out of Brian’s sentencing hearing.” Bruce grabbed Tony’s hand. The father stopped chopping. “He was found guilty, and not insane. He’s been given life without parole.”

Tony pulled Bruce off the counter and into a hug. The boy smiled, tension leaving his body. Tony continued to talk to his aunt, but Bruce, still settled in Tony’s arms, just looked at the newest addition to the fridge: “A Tribute To Family.” 

He didn’t want to go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye my friends! If you want more Kid Bruce content, check out Unbreakable92, you will not be disappointed!!

**Author's Note:**

> There is only one chapter left to be written, and all other chapters are done, and waiting to be posted on upcoming Tuesdays!
> 
> The school subplot has been fully integrated (sorry about that) into chapters 7 and 8! 
> 
> Thanks to my beta, Mxy!


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